


When Two Become One

by gabriels_steth (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cardiophilia, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Heartbeat Kink, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Kink, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gabriels_steth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows that Sherlock isn't heartless. He knows because he's come up with the most obscure excuses for checking his pulse, but he can't help the fixation he's developed on that hyperactive beating. He keeps it hidden, until Sherlock deduces it out of him one day, and decides that he's just as fascinated, if not more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nervous Beating of John's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, it seems this story will never be finished. Several months ago... (the end of May 2015, in fact) my co-author and I (the Sherlock to my John) had a falling out that resulted in two broken hearts, trust issues, and a damaged friendship. The Sherlock muse has even left my co-author for a while. I am saddened by this and wish I could continue it for you, but I cannot make this work without my Sherlock. Sorry to let you all down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For years now, John has kept his fixation a secret. Confined to fantasies and daydreams in his own head. He should know better than to think he can keep anything permanently hidden from Sherlock Holmes. What he wasn't couting on in the least, however, was Sherlock's reciprocation.

The first time John felt Sherlock's pulse was while they ran through alleyways, hand-in-hand. He felt the rapid throbbing through the slender fingers. The second time, the detective and his doctor were packed into a supply cupboard, hiding from highly dangerous foreign assassins. In the small space, they couldn't help up be pressed with John's back to Sherlock's front, and there was no denying the pounding beat John felt against his back. The third time was purely medical: John worried Sherlock had overdosed and counted his radial pulse to confirm that he was okay afterall. What John Watson didn't count on in all this, was becoming hooked. The self-proclaimed "heartless" detective most definitely had a heart. One that was reactive and most often excited. John found himself wondering about that heart. Daydreaming. He longed to listen to its rhythmic, hyperactive beat. He wondered if it would react to more intimate stimulation as opposed to just from the thrill of a case. It should, but then... Sherlock wasn't most people. John's fingers would twitch with the desire to take the detective's pulse anytime they sat near each other. He knew it was crazy, but he felt that knowing Sherlock's heart, influencing Sherlock's heart, would be finally knowing the man himself.  
It wasn't as though John could keep his thoughts a secret from his flatmate. One afternoon of boredom bled into the next and through the mire of ennui, he found his eyes and thoughts wandering to the only person available to stimulate his brain. Of course, this usually ended with Sherlock standing atop the sofa and hurling insults at the wall or sighing about how bored he was but today was a bit different. Something had John preoccupied. In an effort to find out exactly what was on his flatmate's mind, Sherlock forced closeness in the disguise of disregard for personal space just to observe. He noted where John's eyes went after a moment, smirked to himself and went back to the sofa. Interesting. He sat back in some semblance of relaxation, waiting. He'd have to confirm with more data. He'd wait for the man to settle again before toying with the data he had.  
John blinked at his whirlwind of a flatemate, pink tongue rolling out over chapped lips. sh*t. Sherlock knew something and was about to put John through agonising Hell. The doctor's fingers tensed, digging into the armrests of his beloved red chair, and he forced himself to relax, settling in his seat once again. "Um... care to explain what that was about, Sherlock?"  
A flit of glass eyes to the man's unsettled posture, tense fingers and slightly worried brow. Sherlock forced himself not to give a knowing smile at John's obvious discomfort. "Not especially." No, an explanation was too direct and the game would be over before he'd had his fun. Torturing John this way was harmless and would keep him occupied for this afternoon anyway. It wasn't like Lestrade was going to ping his phone any moment now. Slow week for creative, violent murders. Slow week for interesting clients. Slow week. Slow like he forced his breathing and in conjunction, his pulse. "...fetch my cigarettes. I know you've taken them again."  
John gave a huff of a laugh that almost sounded relieved, thinking he was off the hook and Sherlock was just making him tense for entertainment. "No. I told you a thousand times, Sherlock: those damn things will kill you." Oh, but the chance to explore the effects of the nicotine on Sherlock's heart was yet another fantasy of John's. "But I'll make a fair deal. Clean the kitchen and I'll give you three cigarettes."  
Oh, and what was that? Protest and a bargain. There was more in it for John than just a clean kitchen if he was going to allow Sherlock to have cigarettes at all. There had never been bargains before. The way John's expression changed minutely while he considered the cigarettes was telling. Why would John want him to have them? Now came the knowing smile and eye contact that would make anyone squirm. The acuity of his gaze pierced like a laser. I know what you want, it seemed to say. "Fine." Popping up from the sofa, he went to the kitchen and began his task without complaint or argument. That in itself was unusual. The speed by which he completed his task was also unusual, each surface sanitized to a surgeon's standards.  
When Sherlock was nearly finished, John got up and stood in the kitchen doorway. "Oh my god," he mused. "I don't think this kitchen has ever been this clean. It's spotless. I hate to admit it, Sherlock, but I'm really impressed."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed like it was such a chore to receive high praise. It kept the normalcy, didn't it? To act put-upon for having to complete this task before being gifted with his reward. "Yes, yes. A deal is a deal, however." He held out his hand expectantly, at the same time exposing his wrist more than he otherwise would have. Would John resist the blatant offering or misjudge it?  
John's sapphire eyes darted to Sherlock's proffered hand, gaze lingering on the wrist as he imagined the pulse thrumming beneath the porcelain skin. "Right." He cleared his throat and went upstairs to his bedroom. He took a few breaths, clearing his mind, before returning to the detective, handing over the three cigarettes he'd promised.  
Sherlock took the cigarettes with a pleased smile, rolling them in his palm. "Now then, John...why would you want me to have these? Hm?" He staged another invasion of personal space, standing a bit too close. "You weren't annoyed enough to give in to my demands and you set it up in the guise of a bargain. What have you to gain from this?"  
A pause and then a forced smile from the doctor. "Don't be ridiculous. The only thing I have to gain is not dealing with /you/. Our kitchen is clean beyond my standards and I won't have to listen to you shout about 'Give me my cigarettes, JAWN', all afternoon. There's no more bargain than that. No hidden meaning."  
Sherlock dared to laugh, a deep sound in his chest. John could jealously guard his secrets all he liked, but it was plain for Sherlock to see. "I clean the kitchen more often than you realize. Sterile conditions are often needed for my experiments to avoid contamination." Settling one of the cigarettes into his mouth and not budging from how close he was standing, he looked John right in the eye and fought not to change his expression. "...and there, your pupils dilated. There is something to gain here whether you'll tell me or not."  
Shaking his head, John scoffed and left the kitchen. "My pupils are dilated because of the low lighting, especially when I'm standing in your bloody shadow. Not everyone is in love with you Sherlock. I'm not Irene Adler. You can't just look at me and take my-- my pulse and decide I'm in love with you."  
"I never meant to imply you were infatuated with me." Really. That was another matter of investigation entirely. "Rather...the way your eyes migrate tell me what you're thinking about. Infatuation with me would have your eyes fixing on my mouth. Instead, your eyes have been lingering on my neck and wrists." John's choice of words had been telling as well. In a motion quick as a cobra strike, he had John's wrist in his grip but left the doctor's fingers unhindered. Indeed, he was studying the radial pulse, challenging John with his eyes. "...why do you suppose that is?"  
Just as quickly as Sherlock had a hold of him, John's pulse skyrocketed. Now here he was, a vermin trapped in the coils of the deadliest snake. He had to escape, but /how/? His eyes darted around the room nearly as quickly as his racing heart. "I suppose you're imagining things. Fabricating deductions to annoy me."  
"John, your excuses are becoming insults to my intelligence." There was a point at which things like this were amusing to him. There was also a point where they became tedious. He took the cigarette out of his mouth with his free hand and rattled off his deductions at whirlwind speed. "Your heart is racing not because you're agitated or angry, but because you're anxious. Why do you suppose being in my proximity while I tell you my observations makes you anxious? Simple, you're trying to keep something from me. I'm not the object of your desire, let's make that one perfectly clear and move on to the signs. As of late you've been using every excuse to touch my wrists and take my pulse. I think you invented the idea of me using and overdosing just to be able to check it. You stare at the pulse on my neck when you think I'm not looking and I notice you stopping your hands from twitching, specifically your left index and middle fingers when you're close to me. Today, you even gave me cigarettes because the idea excited you." Tugging John's wrist and forcing the fingers to uncurl, he planted John's hand flush to the left side of his chest and held it there. "...because you were excited about what it would do to my pulse. You're fascinated with it." A moment of pause and a cant of his head. "Am I wrong?"  
John was left speechless, mouth open slightly. His eyes darted between Sherlock's face and chest. Each time he glanced at the detective's chest, his gaze lingered until he was staring. There, in the closest proximity possible without being medical or deadly, was Sherlock's heart under John's hand. The doctor could feel every surge. Full of life and seemingly as determined and forceful as the man it beat within.  
"We both know I'm not," Sherlock said in reply to his own question. His voice had lowered in volume, softening like he was afraid of scaring John away. John hadn't even tried to pull his hand away which was the final proof Sherlock needed. Slowly, he released John's wrist to let him do what he would. "I don't mind."  
Somehow the spell was broken when Sherlock released his hand. John dropped his own hand and stepped back. "You're an arse and I hate-- just.. shut up." His face and ears were red with embarrassment and he shoved past his friend to get to the kitchen to make tea.  
Sherlock's expression soured when John pulled away and tried to restore balance to the universe by both insulting him and going to make tea. Fine. John could come to terms with this on his own. It wasn't like he'd been mocking him or laughing at him. It wasn't so ridiculous. Interesting, actually."You have no reason to feel embarrassed. It could become a mutual interest if you like." Rifling through the sitting room casual-as-you-please, Sherlock was looking for matches.  
"You really just don't know when to shut up, do you," John snapped. "Mostly, I don't care that you go on and on, but when I tell you to shut up.. for the love of god, Sherlock, just shut up!"  
Huffing, Sherlock swiped the box of matches from inside of a biscuit tin and stomped off to his room to smoke in peace, all three cigarettes in his mouth. If John was going to behave this way now, he wouldn't even allow him the satisfaction of watching him smoke.  
As if it were the kettle's fault, John glared at the inantimate object until it screamed. He snapped it up and poured the hot liquid into his cup, watching the tea swirl and cloud. The doctor sighed and, when the beverage was still and no longer steaming, he sipped from it, letting the warmth fill and soothe him.  
John was a private man. Sherlock understood this from the number of times he'd been shouted at for rifling through John's laptop and his browsing history. By calling John out so directly, he'd upset the balance and made the man feel exposed. He also understood that John would need time to stew and talking to him now would not be productive. Opening his window and sprawling out onto his bed, he lit the first cigarette and luxuriated in the first effects. Lightheaded. He could feel his heart protest the chemical introduction almost immediately, pumping harshly against his ribs like it was requesting an exit. Just to annoy John later, he used a teacup that was left on his nightstand as an ashtray.  
Three brooding cups of tea later, John knocked on Sherlock's door before opening it. "Brought you tea if you... care." It was a peace offering. I'll let what happened go if you'll forgive my temper and drink this tea.  
By the time John had finished three cups of tea, Sherlock had smoked one cigarette, considered the other two but left them on his nightstand in favor of a book. One book because two, two became three. There was tape and string between them, a reference on one page pointing to a similar one on another page. He'd gotten that bored. "Oh." There was a moment of pause in what he was doing before he swung his legs over the side of the bed from where he'd been sitting cross legged and reached out for the mug. "...yes. Thank you. I could use the caffeine."  
John swallowed, refusing eye contact, and handed over the mug. "There's enough left for another cup when you're done, if you want," he offered and turned to leave.  
"Should I not have pushed?" As his moral compass, he looked to John for the answer. People didn't tend to like it when he pushed them for information no matter what it pertained to. John was trying not to make eye contact and so Sherlock didn't either.  
"No, Sherlock. You shouldn't have. Its a stupid, insane thing and I'm not exactly proud of it," the elder of the two men sighed. "It's not stupid or insane and you were wrong to think I would judge you for it. However...if you prefer, I won't make it a topic of conversation again." That seemed to be that. He sipped his tea. "I'd still be willing to consent if you wanted to pursue you interests." Then he turned to go back to his books. Something to occupy his mind so that he didn't plaster his arms in nicotine patches while smoking just to trick his body into thinking he was high.  
John narrowed his eyes amand turned back toward Sherlock. "Why? Why are you willing to do that? You don't like intimacy or being touched. You won't see a doctor when you're sick because you'd 'rather not be the experiment'."  
"Because I want to." He stretched a piece of red string from one paragraph in a reference to another. "Because I'm...interested." He taped down the string and then cut it. John wasn't a random doctor with a god complex who got everything wrong. He didn't mind it when John touched him interestingly enough.  
"Alright. Care to explain?" John shifted to stand facing Sherlock, but folded his arms across his chest.  
Sherlock paused in what he was doing to turn around part of the way, facing John. "If you can explain your fixation then I might be able to explain my interest. It's there and it's enticing. I trust you don't need me to go into detail about that."  
"It's not easy to explain. The best I can do is tell you that it's like a car and its engine. In order to really know and understand the car itself, you need to understand the inner workings. You need to know the engine."  
Sherlock nodded, considering John's explanation. "I see." His brow furrowed while he tried to think of an explanation of his own. "I'm not just humoring you if that's what you're thinking. You know me to be a man of science and reason, do you not? I rarely do things with no reason behind them. And perhaps..." He turned to his books, shutting all of them at once to let John know he had Sherlock's attention. "...the idea excites me as well."  
John tentatively approached the bed and gestured to the mattress. "May I?" Sherlock nodded, sliding himself over a little to make more room for John to sit. The doctor settled onto the bed. "I think it also comes from you being classified- by yourself and others- as heartless. I know it's just a turn of phrase, but-- well there's definitive proof of the exact opposite. You have a hyperactive heart with your tobacco use and caffeine addiction and the way you run around..."  
Sherlock seemed entirely at ease with John sitting on his bed with him, listening to his theory and quirking an eyebrow while he considered. "You're the only one interested in knowing that it's there, you know." He gave a brief smile and turned to face John properly. "Of course I know I can't live without a heart but most say it's an emotional center. Better to say it doesn't exist at all. As an organ, of course I'm interested in it." He sat surprisingly still like he was waiting for John to make a move. "I like the feeling in my chest when I'm running around, high on adrenaline or nicotine."  
"I don't like the feeling when you're high on anything but adrenaline," John grumbled slightly. "However, as many close calls as we've had, it's always a good reassurance."  
"Yes, well...it's different when you're on the outside looking in." His lips twitched but he didn't quite smile. "There are times when I am willing to do anything to stop being bored."  
"Yes, I know. You know, I didn't have quite so many grey hairs before moving in with you. You worry me too much."  
"I'd apologize but that would imply I'd consider not doing it again. I don't have a deathwish no matter how it seems to you..."  
"That's exactly how it seems. Especially when you say you're 'willing to do anything to stop being bored'."  
"You don't have to worry. I know my own limits and tolerances." He shifted back against the headboard to get more comfortable.  
John's gaze flitted over Sherlock's body, position, and face. His focus lingered on Sherlock's chest, neck, and lips. John Hamish Watson was not gay by any stretch of the imagination, but when he wasn't wanting to punch Sherlock in the face, he wanted to grab him round the collar and kiss him. He supposed Sherlock had that effect on most people. For once, Sherlock was quiet and allowed John to be the one to observe. No abrasive comments, no scathing insults. Nothing. It was one of the few times Sherlock looked relaxed in John's presence. "Y'know, this... interest of mine opens up a world of experiments for you," John pointed out. "I'm willing to take part in certain things if you wanted."  
"Oh?" The opportunity to experiment! Something to slake the boredom when it threatened to drive him back towards his addiction. "What sort of experiments would you suggest?"  
"Well, you can monitor my pulse and heart rate under different circumstances. Or my blood pressure. Environmental stimuli or personal stimuli. It could be useful information for you."  
Sherlock's eyes definitely lit up and he was already running through scenarios and data. "You do realize you'll have to set ground rules."  
"No needles, no knives, and nothing that's not medically necessary. For example, applying pressure to the heart can make it change rhythm, but cardiopulmonary resuscitation on a person who doesn't need it can be dangerous. The same with using a defibrillator."  
Sherlock made a face. "John, I would never endanger your life." The idea that John thought he might made him feel like John didn't trust him as much as he may have thought. "You're too...important."  
"That's the first I'm hearing it. Technically, you endanger my life every time we take a case, but I trust you. I'm just letting you know my limits. People have done very stupid things when experimenting with the human body."  
"That's different. You willingly follow me on cases." Sherlock rolled his eyes and stretched, popping a few vertebrae. "You enjoy that sort of danger. I wouldn't perform a dangerous experiment on you."  
"Well that's relieving because sometimes I honestly wonder with how many times you've drugged me."  
"I calculate doses precisely." He almost sounded offended. "I've never exposed you to anything truly dangerous besides that."  
"Like I said. I trust you, but you still make me nervous."  
Sherlock shrugged with one shoulder."I trust you explicitly on the other hand."  
"That's also the first I'm hearing /that/."  
"Well...there you are, then." After all, John had never given him a reason not to trust him. "So, I'm willing to indulge you as you like."  
"And I'm willing to do the same to soothe your science addiction."  
"So then we have an accord." He held out his hand to shake John's.  
John looked at the hand and then at Sherlock. "Are we business partners or friends?"  
Sherlock lowered his hand and sighed. He wouldn't be trying that again, then. "You know that you are my only friend."  
"Alright then." John's gaze fell on the two remaining cigarettes. "You only smoked one?"  
"So far." He glanced at the window that was still open. "Pass the matches and the cup." He reached around John to snatch one of the cigarettes off from the nightstand.  
John sighed, rolling his blue eyes as he handed over the requested items. "Well while you destroy your lungs, I'm going to go preserve mine in the other room." Sherlock considered for a moment. Setting the cigarette down on the far side of the bed where it was unlikely he'd crush it, he reached a hand under his pillow and pulled out a mostly empty box of nicotine patches. Apparently that was his way of telling John to stay. Rolling up his sleeve and opening up one of the patches, he slapped it onto the inside of his forearm. "You're not going to smoke instead?" John was honestly surprised.  
"Later," he uttered, flexing his arm and rolling his wrist. It would take longer for the chemical to absorb through his skin, but he wouldn't expose John to the smoke. Sitting back, he waited for the effect.  
"Mm. Well we could move into the living room. Less... intimate, yeah?"  
Stretching like a lazy cat, Sherlock let out a slow breath. "I suppose." Taking the remaining patches with him, he slid off from the bed and headed towards the sitting room.  
John followed in his wake, settling in his chair. "What are we going to do for dinner? Takeaway, again?"  
"Not hungry," Sherlock uttered, flopping onto the sofa and lying back. Another patch was applied to the inside of his arm. He didn't need to think this time, he just needed to be stimulated.  
"You're never hungry, but you pick at the food anyway when you don't have a case on. Or you use my leftovers in experiments."  
Sherlock sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't care." Likely John would just order something from the menu he knew he could get Sherlock to eat.  
John sighed. "Right." He picked up his laptop and put in an online order, enjoying the comfortable silence. Another few minutes passed before Sherlock let out a soft sigh. The chemical rush had started and the boredom lingering in his mind seemed a bit less important.  
Setting his laptop aside, John disappeared upstairs for a few moments and the sound of him rummaging came down the stairs. Sherlock looked up briefly, an eyebrow rising. Deciding that it didn't warrant investigation, he settled his hands over his stomach and leaned his head back. Eventually, John returned. In his right hand was what looked like a mess of rubber tubes and metal. He separated said mess to reveal two stethoscopes. One was a sleek black Littman Caridology III and the other was military green and less fancy. He laid them both on the coffee table. "Just in case you decide you want to try anything," he informed his detective friend.  
Ten different uses for the two stethoscopes lying on the coffee table went through his mind, not all of them medical. Humming in amusement, Sherlock turned onto his side to reach out for the plain green one, studying the headpiece and smoothing the pad of his index finger over the diaphragm. "I've only ever had to use one for cracking a safe."  
"That one you're holding is the one I was issued for the army. The other is the one I use at work," John explained. "My work one is a bit fancier since it's a cardiology stethoscope. The army-issue is just some off-brand."  
Sherlock tested the tubing with his fingers before setting it down again. Picking up the one John brought from work, he examined it similarly, weighing it in his hand against the weight of the first one. It was enough to pique his interest. Enough that it got him to sit up and lean forward over the coffee table. "Come here, then."  
So it was actually going to happen then. John swallowed hard and took a deep breath, though that did nothing to calm his anxiously pounding heart. He shuffled closer and gingerly sat on the edge of the couch beside Sherlock.  
"I should warn you that I'm not a qualified medical professional." Smirking, Sherlock noted John's anxiety and dismissed it. People always needed to be acclimatized to new situations. He selected John's medical stethoscope because he preferred the weight of it and looked at John curiously.  
"So glad you're not famous for your sense of humor," John snarked. He flexed his hands nervously and took another deep breath. Rolling his eyes and fitting the stethoscope into his ears, he beckoned John closer. When he wasn't quite close enough, Sherlock scooted forward with an exaggerated sigh and pressed the diaphragm against John's chest. The clarity of the sound through the fabric surprised him as well as the rapid pounding he heard.  
"You're a bit excited." Smirking up at John, he chuckled softly.  
John had his eyes closed and his face was red again. "Nervous," he corrected, trying to slow his breathing.  
"Both," Sherlock corrected John's correction. He would. He became uncharacteristically quiet as he moved the headpiece slowly, curiosity, listening to each nervous beat. John picked at his own pants, fidgeting. Slowly, it started to sink in that he was sitting there letting Sherlock listen to his heart. That only seemed to increase his heartrate. Oh god.  
"So, um... any... commentary? Are you finished?"  
"Shh." Sherlock shifted closer if that was even possible, testing to see where the sound of John's heart was louder and where it sounded different. There was enough medical knowledge stored in his brain to understand what part of John's heart he was listening to and he decided to rest the stethoscope over the apex, liking how loud the sound was there. He would give commentary if he wasn't so utterly fascinated. "It still hasn't slowed," he said in a near-whisper like he was trying not to scare the organ itself.  
"Nope. Now, really, are you finished? You know how Mrs Hudson likes to pop in and the takeaway should be here soon."  
"What would Mrs. Hudson care?" Reluctantly, he sighed and took the stethoscope out of his ears, handing it over to John with a huff. John had been eager and now he was trying to rush him.  
"You don't think it would look weird? Like I said: I'm nervous."  
"Well...stop it. There's no sense in being nervous." He knew for a fact that Mrs. Hudson was out for the evening and that the takeaway would be a while yet. "I'm not nervous."  
"You're never nervous," John pointed out. "Plus you're wearing two nicotine patches."  
"That's true." Sherlock sat back again, giving John space to breathe. "You have the same invitation if you choose, you know."  
"Yeah. I'm still adjusting to this being an open thing, alright? So just... give me a moment."  
"Go make some tea." The ritual would probably be calming to John and would give him his own space. "The takeaway should be here in seven minutes"  
"Of course you would know that," John mumbled, getting to his feet and leaving for the kitchen.  
Chuckling to himself, Sherlock took the military stethoscope and decided to test it as well. Fitting it into his ears, he pressed the headpiece against his own chest. Not quite the same. Not just because of the quality of the instrument, but he sounded different from John. Interesting.  
After making the tea, John seemed a bit calmer. He brought two mugs with him as he returned to the living room. By that time, Sherlock had adequately tested the quality of both stethoscopes and had them neatly draped across the edge of the coffee table. He took his mug when it was handed to him and sat back. "Three minutes."  
"Thank you for the update, BBC News." John settled back on the couch after Sherlock took his mug. "The stethoscopes have moved. Did you try them on yourself?"  
"Yes. I needed to test the sound quality of both." Casually, he sat back and sipped at the tea he'd been given. Too much sugar, but only just. John's had must have been shaking when he put it in.  
"Aside from sound quality, what do you think? You left me with very little. Your level of concentration is a little unnerving when I'm the subject."  
"I was fascinated by the sound of your heart. It was very...forceful. It kept a hectic pace of around one-twenty during the time I was allowed to listen and it was pumping hard enough to move my hand. I'm no judge of your health but I liked the way it sounded."  
John blushed immediately. "I'm going to guess that that's your version of a compliment." He took a long drink of his tea.  
"Something like that." Putting his mug down on the coffee table, Sherlock stepped towards the door. A few seconds after he'd passed the threshold, the doorbell buzzed to signal that their food had arrived. Bringing up the Chinese food, he set the bag down by the sofa for John to deal with, flopping back down to sit.  
John blinked. "You think I'd be used to that by now, but you continue to amaze me."  
"The Chinese restaurant of your preference is only five kilometers away. With current traffic, the dinner rush and the time it takes to prepare the food, it's roughly forty minutes from the time you order until the time it arrives. As the street is clear and the weather is favorable, I didn't have to factor in a delay." Instead of looking smug, he looked distracted. Thinking.  
"And, magically, I never tire of that explanation." John picked up the bag of food and started eating.  
"It's all deductive reasoning," he sighed out, glancing at John, glancing at the medical tools still on the coffee table. He felt restless but he supposed he had to be patient because one of the two of them did have a healthy relationship with food.  
John ate until he was satisfied, took care of the leftovers and washed his hands and face. Returning to the living room, he locked the door and settled on the couch once again. "Do you want to continue?"  
An easy smile graced Sherlock's features if only for a moment. It amused him that John felt it necessary to lock the door. "I think so."  
"Does that mean you want me to...?"  
"Yes, John." He made an effort not to mock John. One false step now could trigger him into nervousness or flight and anger. His eyes met John's and the gaze was both amused and curious.  
John cleared his throat and shifted closer, picking up his Littman. He glanced at Sherlock and fitted the earpieces in raising the diaphragm to the younger man's chest, he settled it over his sternum, sighing slightly when his ears were filled with the sound of Sherlock's life. Sherlock wasn't nervous like John had been but then again neither of them had been expecting him to be. Still, the chemical stimulation he'd subjected his body to had made him slightly tachycardic. He watched John's face, eyes flitting down to the man's neck to count his pulse as well. No commentary, just breathing for the sake of the man listening to his chest. Simply listening to Sherlock's quick, nicotine- and caffeine-affected heart was making John's pulse climb. He gave himself the full tour and decided he liked the sound best at the mitral valve, turning the steth's head to listen with the bell.  
A quick glance down to see what John was doing. He'd definitely have to research cardiology more. It had never been pertinent since he didn't examine live bodies. Then back to the jumping pulse at John's neck. This was exciting him, wasn't it? He decided he liked that too. Taking in a deeper breath, he slowly let it out and kept his lungs empty. He could hold this for a surprising amount of time (maybe not surprising, this /was/ Sherlock Holmes). John listened to the change in Sherlock's heart rate. He listened to it beat more forcefully at the lack of oxygen, each pulsation pushing at the stethoscope head and, in turn, John's hand. Sherlock postponed breathing until he felt the flutter of a premature ventricular contraction - his heart's way of complaining at him for the abuse, he supposed - and then inhaled deeply, feeling another one on the inhale before it settled into a mostly normal rhythm. He made a face at John as though to apologize for the organ's misbehavior.  
"Wow," John breathed out, reluctantly pulling away and taking the earpieces out. "You're not /supposed/ to have PVCs and I'm not supposed to /enjoy/ hearing them, but that was amazing." He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes bright.  
Always with the compliments. It's not that he didn't enjoy them...as a matter of fact, he favored John with a demi-smile, pleased. "You weren't as nervous that time, but I did see that you were excited." His fingertips brushed John's wrist almost like a caress, pausing to feel the pulse there. "...you still are."  
"Yeah, I'll admit that I am. But you're indulging my fascination with your heart. How can I not be excited?"  
It was leaning away from indulging and more towards sharing now. There were tests to run, comparisons to be made, software and hardware to purchased... "It's fine that you're excited."  
"How do you feel about it? Be honest. Be... precise."  
"It's..." Distracting wasn't the right word but fun wasn't either. He was excited for the possibilities, for the experiments both of them could run and there was a growing fondness there for John's heart. For the heart as a vital organ in general. "...stimulating." High praise from a man who was bored to death by anything mundane. "It's good. I enjoy it."  
"Well, I'm glad to hear that." John sat back and looked Sherlock over again, his gaze lingering briefly on his lips once more. John's eyes told Sherlock what he was thinking about. At first, he'd thought John had a fascination with the heart in general until he'd specified that it was just his heart. Of course... he'd been an idiot not to realize. "Do I sound healthy?" ...should he do something? Should he break away to avoid the inevitable or stay to see how John would act? Nervousness was starting to touch him now...that was ridiculous. He didn't get nervous!  
"Considering your history of drug and nicotine use, yes. I'm mildly surprised, but your heart is quite healthy." John backed up and stood slowly, trying to avoid doing what they'd both regret.  
"Hm." John had saved them both. Back to the conversation like he'd been oblivious, peeling off nicotine patches because the sudden nervous palpitations were not welcome and the stimulant would do nothing to calm that. "As long as I'm not working...I'll allow you to do that when you feel the need." John would need permission or he probably wouldn't again. Sherlock...well, he wouldn't give John much of a choice like anything else he wanted.  
"I'd give you permission too but something tells me you'll do it as you please regardless, hmm?"  
"I'm becoming predictable." Rising from the sofa, he tossed the nicotine patches he'd peeled off into the bin. "At least that means you know what to expect from me."  
"You're not entirely predictable. But I've been your friend long enough to be able to guess a thing or two." John picked up his laptop. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."  
Sherlock hummed his acknowledgement, going to the kitchen to pick around in the fridge for leftovers. After he'd gotten a snack, it was time to research. John disappeared upstairs to do a little work and a lot of blogging.


	2. Heroin Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is bored. John's date fails. Even when Sherlock is high, neither of them can deny the way they feel. But can John be absolutely sure? Because if he isn't, and Sherlock becomes certain... the detective doesn't know what he'll do

When no cases came in, Sherlock spent the next several days researching, ordering things online, and lying on the sofa in utter boredom while waiting for them to arrive. At one point while he thought John was at work, he plastered two nicotine patches on his arm and smoked one of the two cigarettes he had left just to feel something other than boredom.   
John came home for lunch, however, just as Sherlock was lighting up. "Seriously? I can't leave you alone for four hours... Two nicotine patches /and/ a cigarette. D'you have any idea what you're doing to yourself?"   
"Better than the alternative," Sherlock replied, lazily taking a drag. At least he'd had the decency to open up a window this time. "If it was just the cigarette, I'd agree, but you're putting enough nicotine in your system right now..." John sighed, not even bothering to argue as he went to the kitchen to make himself lunch.   
"Bored," he uttered, rolling onto his side to tap the ashes into another mug that was sitting on the coffee table. Bored and he had to wait for the experiment he was currently doing to properly ferment under the sink before he could touch it again. Bored and if he touched something from his stash, John would be more than angry with him.   
"Well, what have you done all day," John called back, busying himself with making tea and a sandwich.   
"Research. Started an experiment. Made a few online purchases." Sighing like life as they knew it was the cruelest reality possible, he considered going to get properly dressed. He was still lounging around in his pajamas, bare feet twitching for the want of motion.   
"What did you buy online?" John didn't bother to ask about the experiment. He knew it wasn't something he'd be thrilled to hear about.   
"Just some things for our ongoing interest." His own stethoscope, a pulse oximeter, portable ECG... he'd looked into some other things but they would have involved taking a client on for proper funding. The clients who had come in this week were uninteresting to the point of him just handing them a business card for a divorce lawyer.   
"You're not going to give me specifics? Just going to tell me it's 'things'?" John came into the living room with his tea and sandwich.   
"Mmhm." Apparently he wasn't giving specifics. It would be a surprise when they came in and he wanted to see the look on John's face when the medical equipment came in. Another drag of the cigarette and he was blowing smoke rings up at the ceiling.   
"Good to know." John settled into his chair and started in on his lunch, watching Sherlock blow his smoke rings.   
When the cigarette was down to the filter, he tapped it out and dropped it into the mug he was using as an ashtray before popping up like a sudden burst of energy had taken him. Perhaps it had. Perhaps he just wanted to pace because that's what he settled into doing, sighing and twitching like he was agitated. Bored. He snapped at his phone from where it lay on the coffee table. "GOD! Can't someone go on a murder spree!"   
John rolled his eyes. "Let me just go kill some of my patients. Would that make you feel better?"   
"No! That would be too predictable. I'd know how you did it by looking at your shoes..." The stash was looking more promising all the time. Perhaps he should just tell John where it was so he could get rid of it. Perhaps he would need it later to self-medicate when his mind got too busy with nothing to keep it occupied.   
John scoffed and finished off his sandwich. "Have you tried talking to Greg?"   
"Who?" He paused in his pacing for a moment to examine the post he'd stabbed into the mantel. No cases there, just bills and things of that nature. Damn it.   
John let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Lestrade," he clarified. "Have you tried talking to Lestrade?"   
"Why would I do that? He's an abysmal conversationalist." Lestrade only contacted him for the interesting cases. Contacting him now might get him a few cold cases...that was his equivalent of a crossword.   
"I mean talking to him about a case, Sherlock." "Why? I'd get cold cases like always. Boring."   
"Well, it's something to do, isn't it?" Sherlock let out a noise of frustration and plodded to the kitchen on bare feet, opening the fridge and looking inside for something that could potentially entertain him. No body parts, unfortunately. He'd have to talk to Molly about getting more. John looked at his watch as he polished off his tea. "I've got to leave for work in fifteen minutes." The fact that John wouldn't be there to keep him entertained was even worse   
All but stomping over to John, he got into his personal space for a moment before reaching for his wrist to get a baseline reading on his normal resting pulse. "...stay still." John willingly let Sherlock have his wrist. They'd gotten past the initial introduction, and so John was less nervous. He stayed still and kept his breathing normal- no deeper or slower. His pulse kissed Sherlock's fingers enough to display 64bpm. Good. Great as a matter of fact. He made a mental note and would take a written note later when he started to keep track of this data daily. Since John was only home on lunch, he wouldn't try anything further...not yet. "What time will you be home this evening?"   
"Well, I'm going out with someone tonight, so... don't expect me before ten."   
Sherlock tried carefully to remain stoic. Outwardly, he was. Going out with someone when he'd given clear and obvious signs that... No. Nevermind. Delete. It was fine. He flopped back onto the sofa like a falling tree, curling up with his back facing John.   
John blinked, confused. "Sherlock? You okay? You're doing that... pouting thing."   
"Bored!" he yelled into the sofa cushion, muffling most of the noise. Definitely not pouting. He didn't have a 'pouting thing' as John put it. Just terribly, achingly, wretchedly bored.   
"Sure. Whatever you say. I'd better go back to work, then." John stood and carried his dishes into the kitchen. "I'll see you after my date, yeah?" He pulled on his jacket and went for the door. Sherlock made a grunting noise and curled up more. Of course John would want to go out on a date now. Of course. Had he misread the signals from the other day? "Umm... see you then." John left quietly. That was definitely pouty behavior, nothing to do with boredom. But why?   
One he'd heard the street door close, Sherlock bounced up and glanced behind him to make sure no one else was there. Pouncing onto his feet with a growl, he paced and tried to find where in their interactions he'd misjudged a cue. He ended up smoking the last cigarette and craving more, though he didn't know where John had hidden them and another patch would just make him feel ill. His mind turned again and again to the stash of seven percent solution he'd hidden in the floorboards...   
John got through the rest of his work day easily. However, he still puzzled over his flatmate. Sherlock acted... strange-- er than usual when John brought up his date. Why? It wasn't as if they were together. Their shared interest wasn't anything more than that. John had been on plenty of dates since living with Sherlock. He'd even gotten married. And besides... Sherlock was aromantic. Or asexual. Or both. ...Wasn't he?   
Sherlock worked himself up to the point that he just couldn't force himself to care any longer about the subject. Why should he care? He shouldn't care! Fine. He'd either misjudged or he hadn't. He was certain that he hadn't but that hardly mattered now with John out on a date. Clawing through the flat for some sort of distraction, he ended up scorching the kitchen table, overturning a pile of books looking for one particular sentence to connect to his other references and ended up pacing in his room. He was not going to lift the floorboard. Absolutely not.   
Something had clearly gone wrong to have John home early from his date at around eight-thirty. He let himself into the flat and hung up his jacket, taking his doggy bag from dinner into the kitchen. There was a mess in the kitchen, a mess in the sitting room...the flat was just a mess in general. At least there were no new bullet holes in the wall. In addition to being messy the flat was suspiciously quiet. Sherlock's coat was still hanging up so he wasn't out. The door to his room was shut. No doubt he'd heard John come in as he always did.   
John sighed at the mess, but chalked it up to Sherlock having a rather bad day. He tucked his food into the fridge and went to knock on Sherlock's door. There was a crash not unlike something had been knocked over before there was a response.   
"What?"   
"Can I open the door? That didn't sound good, but I don't want to see something that will make me regret opening the door."   
A bit of scuffling. He might have been trying to tidy whatever he'd knocked over. "...fine. Fine. Yes, fine..."   
John opened the door. "The, um... date didn't go over. I mean... I left in the middle of dinner, so..."   
"Shame." Sherlock was sitting on the bed, tapping his fingers over the duvet ad trying to give John his attention.   
"You don't even want to know why?"   
One glance over John told him everything he'd needed to know. Still, he'd humor him. "What? Er...why? Why did you leave? ...Your date."   
"She doesn't like you. She thinks you're insane and I'd 'likely be better off with the likes of Jack the Ripper'. So I told her she'd be better off to finish dinner without me."   
Sherlock laughed, tilting his head. He'd gotten out of John's appearance and posture that he hadn't liked her, he'd left in a hurry and he was still irritated with her. That wasn't something he'd expected to hear. "She's probably right."   
"Safer? Probably. But better off? I disagree."   
"You don't like being safe anyway." Sherlock bounced off from the bed, going over to his wall next to the widow. Over the Periodic Table of Elements were dozens of book pages with red string connecting various words and sentences. The workings of a madman. John watched him.   
"Found something to keep yourself busy?"   
"Words," Sherlock muttered, snatching the string up again and going back to work on...whatever it was he was doing...like a bee, buzzing from one page to the next.   
"Should I leave you alone then? I mean... I'm home now, so we could have tea, and do whatever."   
"Hm? ...Oh! Yes. You are home." Sherlock turned and faced John like he'd forgotten all about him being there. "Sure, yes...tea is good." John gave him half of a smile and went into the kitchen, busying himself with tea as usual. Rolling his shoulders, Sherlock padded out of his room to join John in the kitchen. He stood there for a moment like he'd forgotten why he'd come in, frowning at the scorch he'd left on the kitchen table earlier in the day. Experiment was not successful but at least nothing had actually caught fire. "What would you like to do this evening?"   
"I'm up for anything, really. What do you want to do?"   
"Murder spree?" Sherlock smirked at him as he walked into the sitting room and walked over piles of books and even the coffee table before arriving at the sofa. Instead of sitting there, he perched on the back of it, feet twitching. "I need to do something. Anything."   
"So let's do something then."   
Sherlock toed one of the sofa cushions. John was expecting him to initiate. "Put the hot liquids down and get your bag."   
"I can't even finish making tea?"   
Sherlock groaned out his frustration. "Fine, fine.." Tapping his fingers impatiently against the sofa, he twitched and moved for the sake of movement.   
John rolled his eyes and finished making the tea. As usual, he brought Sherlock a cup and enjoyed his from his armchair. Giving the tea a look that would have melted down glass, Sherlock slipped off the back of the sofa and paced again rather than relaxing with his tea. Paced. Muttered to himself at high speeds.   
John watched him. "How much more nicotine and caffeine did you have?"   
Sherlock sniffed and shook his head. "Smoked the other cigarettes...cup of coffee." He shook his head at himself and mumbled something, considering the fireplace but shaking his head like he'd changed his mind about whatever he'd been considering.   
John ignored him mostly and finished his tea. He put the cup in the sink and went to get his stethoscope from his jacket pocket. "What else do you want?"   
He opened his mouth to answer the question but thought better of it and closed it again. "More cigarettes would be good but I doubt you'll be willing to give me any..." He gestured to the sofa, flopping onto it himself and bouncing his leg.   
"I'll buy you a whole pack tomorrow if you clean up your mess."   
"Fine. Done." He was waiting a little too impatiently for John to join him, his eyes flitting around the room as though everything were a distraction.   
"What else did you have today, Sherlock? Besides cigarettes and coffee?" John would know even if he didn't tell him. John would be angry, wouldn't he? He'd probably be more angry if he lied about it, however.   
"...just a bit of something you wouldn't approve of."   
"Uh-huh. I had a feeling." John set the stethoscope on the table and gave Sherlock a disapproving look. "Where is it?"   
Sherlock let out an exaggerated sigh. "The bottle is in the bathroom trash. The rest of it is down the sink. Hypodermic was appropriately disposed of." He wasn't lying. He'd dumped the rest after realizing that he could so easily give in to his addiction again.   
"It better be."   
"I assure you it is."   
"I don't even know what to say to you right now."   
Sherlock shrugged. Somewhere in the mess of hyperactive thoughts there was a spot of shame. "...sorry?"   
John rolled his eyes. "Don't even try. You're not sorry."   
"A bit. God, John...you don't know what it's like. I think I'd like to be more sorry than I am." He stood up and paced again, uneasy and rattled.   
"No of course I don't know what it's like. But I know /drugs/ don't help. You just believe they do."   
"They don't. I know they don't. I'm not an idiot, John! ..They just make this.." He gestured around himself, glaring at existence in general. "Tolerable for a time."   
John shook his head. "I'll never understand your self-hatred."   
"It gets very busy and very loud in here." He tapped the side of his head aggressively. "It's like...an uncontrolled /thing/, clawing and /demanding/! I know using isn't good. I know it doesn't offer any kind of long term solace." He turned to John and all but yelled. "I /know/ that! For a while, though...everything is fine and tolerable and I feel fine."   
"There are other ways, Sherlock. Other highs, other indulgences. But you never want to let me help you."   
Sherlock scrubbed his hands through his hair and huffed. "...then come here and help me."   
"You need to get sober first. Sit down. I'm getting you water before you dehydrate."   
Sliding down to sit properly on the sofa, Sherlock leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face. John retreated to the kitchen and brought Sherlock a glass of ice water. Taking it, he sipped it slowly and looked up at John, avoiding eye contact.   
John sat beside him. "Give me your wrist," he instructed softly. Sherlock was hesitant this time but surrendered his arm after a moment. He kept his eyes down on his glass of water. With practiced ease, John put his fingers directly on Sherlock's radial artery and glanced at his watch to time the pulsebeats. Quick. Probably too quick, the nervous flutter pressing back against John's fingers like it was fighting him. John sighed disappointedly. Just as he expected. "If you don't stop using, you're going to end up with brain damage. And probably several heart conditions. I know you don't care about anything but your brain, but I'm trying to get you to."   
Sherlock's fingers crept up until they were just ghosting over John's wrist. "...I just need...something to focus on." John traded places with him, offering his wrist to Sherlock's seeking fingers. His pulse was slow enough that Sherlock could use it as a focal point. Grasping onto John's wrist, he tried to breathe slowly to calm his own pulse. He tried to use John as a focal point, concentrating on the solid presence and the steady, calm beat.   
After a while, John broke the silence, asking, "Better now or do you need more?"   
Sherlock gave an ambiguous nod, looking up at John with a seeking gaze. His hands were trembling. "Well, which is it? Better? Or more?"   
"...More," Sherlock said after a moment, his gaze wandering slowly down. He was staring at John but also staring through him. John leaned forward just enough to pick up his Littman from the coffee table. He handed it to Sherlock and took off his button down so he was left in just a t-shirt. Letting out a slow breath, Sherlock hastily fitting the stethoscope into his ears. He took in the moment of quiet for a few seconds before pressing the diaphragm over John's sternum. He took his time in finding the spot he liked over the apex of John's heart again before letting the sound fill his head. John watched him, just breathing slowly to keep his heartbeat slow and steady. He silently willed Sherlock to calm down and feel better. It was good for him to have a focus. If he closed his eyes, this was all there was in the world. Just the sound of John's life pulsing through him. Minutes passed in silence before he spoke quietly. "...how do you manage? Why is it so easy for you?"   
"Why is /what/ so easy for me? How do I manage what, exactly?"   
"Living." The sound of John's voice through his chest was booming.   
"Because I don't have as much going on in my brain. But living wasn't easy before I met you. You know how pathetic I was."   
"It's too much sometimes..." Letting out a slow breath, he took the earpieces out of his ears and put the steth down between them. He swallowed and put a hand over his own chest to feel his own heart still pounding. His mind, however, was somewhat calmer.   
"I know it is, Sherlock. But if you let me help you, it can get easier. You're not alone anymore, remember. I'm here for you. You're my friend, Sherlock and I care about you." But he had been alone. Sitting back to try and trick his body into relaxing, he only nodded. John touched his arm. "You okay?" Sherlock opened his eyes just barely, nodding when John spoke. His eyes settled on John's hand. John took that to mean he should remove his hand, so he did exactly that, putting his hand back in his own lap. "Maybe you should just get a good night's sleep for once."   
Even after John had removed his hand, Sherlock continued to stare at it. "I won't be able to sleep for hours."   
"Well I don't know how else to help you get better right now."   
"You've already helped me. Now it's just a matter of calming the transport."   
"You could go lay down and read," John suggested. "And I don't mean taping strings everywhere. I mean actually read."   
"It doesn't work like that," Sherlock sighed, trying to keep his fingers and toes from twitching.   
"Then tell me how I can help," John pled. "I want to help you."   
"You're a doctor. You know how stimulants work." Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he let out a frustrated noise.   
"Yes, I know. But I also know that you're quite different from everyone else. I know that you can be distracted from whatever is happening to you physically for a short time."   
"Then distract me. Do something." He would have asked John to commit a murder and make it interesting. Demanded a case. Demanded more cigarettes...   
"We could go walk around Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens. It'd get you out of the flat and active."   
"No. Boring." Apparently he'd rather spring off the sofa and pace again. "...I've had enough help. I don't need help. I'm fine, John. /Fine/."   
"No, you're not fine. And how is the park any more boring than pacing our living room?"   
"I'm not leaving the flat. Not like this. ...Give me a sedative if you want me calm, otherwise let me be."   
"Yeah, no. I'm not giving you any more drugs."   
Sherlock turned and focused on John for a long moment the way a predator stares intently at prey. Walking back across the room, he sat down on the coffee table across from John, just staring at him. This sort of thing made John uncomfortable. He squirmed backward in his seat and looked around the room at anything that wasn't Sherlock. "What's the matter, John?" Maybe that was the whole point. Sherlock leaned forward more, trying to make eye contact as John adamantly avoided it.   
"I don't like being scrutinized like this," the doctor replied, trying to back up more.   
Any further pushing and he risked alienating his only friend. The frustrated and bored part of his mind told him to keep pushing. The rational and moral side told him to stop. Sighing, he rose from the coffee table and headed to his room. John watched Sherlock walk away. "So, I'll see you in the morning then...?"   
"See me whenever you'd like. I'm not going to sleep." He didn't even close the door behind him. The digging began as he looked for something to occupy him. His secondary stash would need to be thrown out as well. "...looking for more drugs so they can be tossed if you'd like to help."   
"Oh. Sure, I'll help." John got off the sofa and joined Sherlock in the bedroom. "How many stashes do you have?"   
"Three. One was already disposed of." Grunting, he started to push his heavy dresser to get to the floor under it. John rolled his eyes but wordlessly moved to help Sherlock move the dresser. Crouching down quickly, Sherlock picked at the floor until a board came lose. Inside was a bottle with a rubber stopper no doubt stolen from the hospital. "Morphine," he said, handing it up to John.   
The doctor firmly set his jaw and remained silent as he carried the bottle away and disposed of it. Sherlock turned out his drawers, tore off his bedsheets and went through every cubby in his room. He'd hidden the third stash even from himself. John took the time to search the wardrobe himself. Nothing there either. He carefully removed the Periodic Table from the wall to see if Sherlock had cut a hole or anything. "Ah! Yes. Good." Sherlock spun around to face John, pointing at the wall behind the poster and mess of book pages. "Cocaine. Very pure, too dangerous to mix in a solution."   
John poked around until he felt a seam where a piece of the wall had been removed and replaced. He popped it out of place and took out the drug. "And you were going to put this in your body," he tutted, putting the wall back in place.   
"Past tense, yes." Sherlock let out a sigh, sounding relieved. For some reason, knowing that John was helping him take the drugs out of the flat made him feel better. It was like a weight had been lifted. "Not now, of course."   
"You're bloody right, not now." John hung the poster back up and went to flush the cocaine.   
"Thank you," Sherlock uttered, almost when John was out of earshot. He sat down on his messed up bed, putting his head in his hands.   
John returned and sat carefully next to Sherlock. "We're going to get you clean again. Like you had been before you... left."   
He nodded, slowly sitting up. He offered his arm out to John wordlessly, swallowing.   
John rubbed his arm soothingly before resting his fingers on Sherlock's pulse. Quick still, but calmer. Working through the last burst of energy until the crash and getting the drugs out had made him feel better. As the crash came, he could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest but the manic rush was fading. "Well, I'd feel better if it was back to normal and not pounding so hard, but you're getting better."   
Getting better. That felt like praise in a way. "...I can feel it in my fingers."   
"I don't think I've ever felt anyone heart beat this hard. I'm not surprised you can feel it in your fingers. Is it hurting in your chest?"   
"A bit," he murmured, breathing slowly despite it.   
"Breathe a bit deeper, but keep it slow. That will help."   
Taking the advise, he started to take deeper breaths, rubbing a hand over the offending organ to try and coax it into behaving.   
"Is it helping?"   
A one-armed shrug. "...not especially." This was always the worst part of the high. Next would come depression.   
"Should I leave you alone? I mean... do you want to deal with this alone?"   
"...no." It was a soft but very definite answer.   
"Okay." John nodded in understanding and released his grip on Sherlock's wrist. "It's a good thing my date ended, hmm?"   
"She wasn't worth your time." John was finished with his wrist and so he gently took John's instead. He liked the contact and the feel of the calmer pulse.   
"No, she wasn't. Not when she feels that way about you."   
"Most people feel that way about me."   
"I make a point not to interact with those people where I can help it. It's just about the polar opposite of the way I feel."   
Something like a smile touched his face. His fingertips lightly stroked the inside of John's wrist. John looked down at Sherlock's fingers. That was almost like affection. His heartbeat quickened minutely as he looked back up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Their eyes met and Sherlock gradually took his hand away from the quickening pulse beat. Yes, that had been dangerously like affection. He needed to stop before he really alienated John. He looked away.   
John swallowed hard and felt a pang of... disappointment? He looked at the floor and sighed. "I'm just going to get a glass of water. I'll be back." He stood up and paused in the doorway. "D'you want- need- anything?"   
"I'm fine," he said to the floor, not looking up again. That had been a mistake and had done nothing to calm his heart.   
John nodded and left the room, pausing at the kitchen sink to breathe. There was no denying the way he felt anymore. Just Sherlock brushing his wrist like that had made John's heart race the way it would if they were lovers anticipating their next kiss. This made no sense. John wasn't gay. Ever. But all he talked about was Sherlock. All he thought about was Sherlock. Sherlock was there in the morning and there at bedtime. He was there in the good and the worst. He saved John's life as many times as John saved his. Sherlock never ate, but always made sure John did. God, how could John have been so blind to his own feelings? It was Sherlock. It always had been.But suppose the detective didn't feel the same? Well, of course he didn't... Love was-- what had he called it?-- a chemical defect, human error. Oh no. This was bad news all over.   
John had intentionally run away from him just then. He'd made it strange, hadn't he? That was not good. First the drugs, then the manic behavior, his demand for attention and making John uncomfortable... then he'd caressed John's wrist in a show of intimacy he'd had no right to display. Perhaps it was the depression slowly settling in, but he felt hopeless. Flopping onto his side, he curled up with both hands covering his aching chest.   
John returned to Sherlock's room, carrying his glass of water carefully in his trembling hand. He took a drink and set the glass on Sherlock's night stand. He lowered himself onto the mattress. "How're you doing, Sher?"   
Surprising. John had come back. He made a grunt of acknowledgment that John had spoken but he didn't move at all.   
"Does... your heart feel any better?"   
Curled up as he was, he could feel his heartbeat booming through his entire body. It felt strange. "...no."   
"Is there anything you want me to do? Or should I just sit here?"   
"...you don't have to sit with me." He would accuse John of feeling sorry for him but he knew that wasn't the case. John wanted to be helpful. With a heavy breath, he turned over onto his side facing John. "...but I don't mind if you do."   
"I'll sit here as long as it makes you feel better even minutely. I've got nothing better to do than take care of my best friend."   
"I've decided I'm not going to use again." A hand snaked its way away from his chest and out towards John like he was beckoning him. John hadn't run away... Sherlock didn't know what he was doing or why he craved touch. He shouldn't. He should pretend to be moody and shout until John left. He should let whatever this was between them fizzle and die.   
Even though it was against his better judgement, John took Sherlock's outstretched hand as he situated himself to lie on his back beside Sherlock, leaving just under a foot of space between them, save for their joined hands. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."   
There was under a foot of space between then until Sherlock scooted closer. He didn't speak for a long space of seconds...didn't even dare breathe to disturb the air between them lest he scare John away. When he did move, it was to bring John's hand closer to him, his fingers against John's radial pulse, John's hands close to, but not touching his chest. He wouldn't force John to touch him.   
John's heart began thumping anxiously and he knew Sherlock would feel his pulse do the same. He relaxed his hand and put it flush over the left of Sherlock's chest, feeling every surge of the younger man's heart. John could barely breathe himself.   
"...is this all right?" He had his eyes closed to avoid the intensity of eye contact but he could deduce from the sound of John's hitched breathing and the speed of his heartbeat. Anxiety or fear...but John hadn't pulled away. He'd taken the invitation.   
A long pause. "Yes, it's fine," the doctor breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would reveal his inner thoughts or ruin what was happening between them. John's confirmation allowed Sherlock to let some of his guard down. He'd stay still and quiet like this for as long as John would let him.   
"...it doesn't seem painful now," he remarked. His heart still beat forcefully against John's hand, but the ache had gone.   
"That's good. It's still pounding, but if it doesn't hurt anymore... well, that's another step closer to feeling better."   
"I already feel better." It wasn't a lie. Having John actually stay with him, rather than fleeing from him- as any sane man might have- made him feel better. Having the drugs gone made him feel better. Having John's hand against his heart made it feel like it was performing for him rather than being an annoyance.   
"That's good, too," John whispered, turning on his side to face Sherlock. He just wanted to watch him. Just for a moment.   
The movement beside of him made him open his eyes. Seeing John that close to him, watching him...it made his traitorous heart skip and thud heavily. What was this? What was this /becoming/?   
John knit his brow in concern when he felt Sherlock's heart act up. "Are you okay?"   
"I'm fine," he managed to whisper. Deep breaths. He couldn't keep many secrets with John this close. The intimacy of the situation was making his mind go down roads he'd previously blocked off and tried desperately to block off again.   
"Okay. I believe you. That just felt... not right, so I worried." There were a few more 'not right' events under John's hand. Sherlock couldn't control his mind and body at the same time like this. His mind was telling him things that made his body react in kind. John was close enough to share the same air. He was close enough to... show further affection that they would both regret. It didn't quash the desire.   
John's left and right brain were at war. The logical side telling him to leave the room before he did something he- and Sherlock- would regret. His emotional right brain told him that life was nothing without risk and that he should just go for it. Back and forth, over and over until apparently his right brain won out. 'Here goes nothing...' John's hand slowly left Sherlock's chest, moving upward. His fingers paused on the detective's barely-visible carotid pulse before continuing on, brushing Sherlock's jaw and cheek before coming to rest on the back of Sherlock's head, followed by a deathly terrifying pause.   
There was absolutely no mistaking what John was doing. This wasn't a touch to calm, to confirm or even to satisfy his interests. His eyes snapped open and ticked between both of John's in a moment of panic. There would be no going back from this. But...it was John. Letting out a slow breath from his nose, Sherlock tried to relax to give John a sense of calm. He didn't try to pull back or ask what John was doing. There, they waited, frozen in the moment.   
John swallowed hard. This was almost as frightening as being a teenager who's never been kissed at all. Sherlock didn't move or stiffen. That must have meant it was okay... right? Glancing at the cupid's bow inches away from him, John licked his own lips nervously. 'Just do it,' his right brain shouted at him. And so he... just did it. He leant in until his lips were mere millimeters from Sherlock's, took a deep breath, and gently sealed their lips together, his heart fluttering wildly.   
His mind. Just. Stopped. Everything stopped. There was a frightening moment where Sherlock didn't react at all. When his mind caught up with him, he awkwardly raised an arm, all but flailing before wrapping it around John's shoulders to keep him close. Yes. /Yes/.   
For that one terrifying moment, John thought he'd made a huge mistake. Just before he pulled away to run, however, Sherlock had put an arm around his shoulders and was keeping him firmly in place. Oh. ...Oh! Sherlock was enjoying it, then! Thank the gods... John shifted closer by just a sliver and kissed him a bit more fully, less timidly.   
Sherlock was inexperienced but eager, holding onto John like they'd both be lost forever if he let go. Full kisses led to more demanding ones Until they were both panting. John pulled away- reluctantly- to breathe properly. He looked at Sherlock with wide, shining midnight-blue eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Sherlock looked back with an equal amount of awe. That had been almost surreal...and what was he supposed to do with what he was feeling? He was bursting, light and heavy at the same time. It felt wrong to break the silence all but the sound of their breathing. John didn't quite know what to do with himself either. So many things he wanted to say, and yet... no words to be spoken.   
"D...did you mean for that to happen?" He had to be absolutely certain. People got caught up in the moment. They were in an intimate environment, sharing something personal, sharing a mutual interest...   
"Um... yeah, I... I did. Went better than expected. I thought you'd recoil."   
"Ah. Good. That's...that's good." Very little could cause the detective to stutter. He still hadn't let John go.   
"I suppose it's a little late for words now," John laughed.   
Sherlock laughed with him, the uneasiness melting away."A bit." He moved his body closer just for the sake of closeness. Just to try it out.   
John put his arms around Sherlock and drew him closer, just wanting to hold him. That was good too. He found that his face fit perfectly into the crook of John's neck and nestled there, breathing out slowly. It was warm and it was right like it was supposed to happen this way.   
John sighed contentedly. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time," he whispered, surprising even himself with the confession.   
He was glad that John finally had. He felt his heart soar and not in a painful way. "...I never thought you would."   
"I was blind to what everyone else could see..."   
"I never thought you'd want me." He never thought he would have this. That he'd be allowed to wrap himself around the person he wouldn't allow himself to yearn for.   
"I've wanted you since... well, since I moved in. I can't believe you couldn't see that I love you."   
That was a big word. The largest word John could have ever said to him. Four letters but weighty enough to pull his brain into a complete shutoff.   
John passed his hand through Sherlock's unruly curls. "You okay?"   
Triggering involuntary reflexes seemed to be all his brain was good for at the moment. When he could conjure some sort of response, all he could manage was a 'mmhm' of acknowledgement.   
"Okay." John kissed his temple and relaxed silently.   
"...you're sure? ...you have to be absolutely certain." Because if John wasn't sure and Sherlock became sure...he wouldn't know what to do.   
"That I love you? Of course I'm certain."   
He squeezed himself more tightly against John, swallowing hard. It went against everything he'd ever known, defied all logic and reason, but... "...I...I find this difficult to process and even more difficult to say. I may not express it or say it often but...I love you." Just like that. He was shaking in John's arms but trying to tell his ridiculous body to calm down.   
"You don't have to say it. I know it's not easy for you, " John assured him. "You can love me silently."   
"This...changes things, doesn't it?"   
"That depends."   
"Upon...?"   
"Do you want things to be different?"   
"Can they stay the same with...more of this?"   
"That would sort of make us a couple you know."   
"Problem?"   
"Not if you don't think it is."   
"Good. Then it's settled." He gave John a squeeze and then relaxed, sighing.   
"Yup. Sherlock Holmes has a boyfriend," John tittered.   
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "This isn't primary school. We're...partners. Lovers. Something more dignified."   
"I can't have a bit of fun?"   
"...fine." He settled against John like he planned to live there.   
"Are we going to sleep like this then?"   
"If you like. You don't have to if you need your own space."   
"I like having you in my arms. I like being close to you. I like feeling your heart l beat next to mine."   
Sherlock turned his face to leave a light kiss on the edge of John's jaw. "...I like those things also."   
"Then I guess that's our answer, hmm?"   
"...all right. You'll let me know if I do something wrong, won't you?"   
"Don't I always?"   
"Point." Sighing softly, he got himself a bit more comfortable, hooking a leg over John's.  
"Mhmm." John planted a kiss on Sherlock's neck. "What do you want to do until bed?"   
"Whatever you'd like to do, John...anything you like at all." A very rare amicable mood.   
"I kind of want to listen to your heart while we kiss some more. Where'd you put my army stethoscope? We can both do it."   
"It's on the table where you left it." Reluctantly, he pulled away from John to let him move.   
John pecked his lips. "I'll be back in thirty seconds or less." He left to get both stethoscopes from the living room. Sherlock stretched out on the bed and got himself more comfortable while he waited, a thousand different thoughts going through his head. This was real and it was happening. They were in love.   
John returned to him, looking happier than he ever had. "I hope I didn't give you enough time to miss me."   
"Only a bit. You're warm." He beckoned John back onto the bed, smiling.   
John sat on the bed and situated himself against the headboard. "I'm a bit more dense than you with better circulation. Of course I'm warm."   
"Would you like me to sit up next to you?" Sherlock stretched and moved lazily.   
"I want you to sit however you'll be comfortable. But in front of me would be best."   
"Mmh...yes." Sherlock slid around so that he was sitting in front of John, studying him curiously. This was still new and his interest was all on the man in front of him.   
John just looked at him for a moment. "Will you get angry with me if I tell you that you're beautiful?"   
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say." He leaned forward to peck John's lips. "I don't mind."   
"Good. Because you're f**king gorgeous," John whispered with a smile.   
"You never tire of complimenting me." He couldn't describe John as gorgeous. There wasn't a word that fit how the doctor appeared to him, aesthetically or otherwise. He looked like... comfort and warmth. Like loyalty and danger. He favored John with a smile of his own, reaching to caress the side of his face.   
"Because I'm just about the only one that does compliment you and with all the negativity you hear, you deserve to hear the good things too." John put his hand over Sherlock's and brought it in front of him, kissing the wrist.   
"You're very good," he said quietly, his expression softening at John's words and affection. "...so good that I'll willingly give you my heart if you want it."   
John hummed, appreciating Sherlock's go at affectionate words. "I accept. I gave you mine a long time ago." Still holding Sherlock's hand, he pressed the palm to his chest over his heart. "It's beat for you ever since."   
"You're such a romantic." Huffing out a laugh, he pressed his palm flush against John's chest to claim the organ beneath. "...I'll try to take good care of it."   
"You have so far. You just didn't know. The only time it broke was when I saw you with Jeanine. And then when you had the ring for her..."   
"I can't believe you didn't know that was an act." He scooted closer. "She did."   
"She didn't until later. And how was I supposed to know? I wasn't living here, I thought you'd moved on."   
Sherlock looked away for a moment, not sure he wanted to pursue the topic. He'd believed that John didn't want him in his life at that point. "...none of it matters now."   
"No, you're right. None of it matters."   
"Shall we then?" The smile returned to his face as did the eye contact.   
"Yes, I think so." John handed him the Littman since it was the better of the two stethoscopes.   
"Cheers," he said, leaning back to fit it into his ears.   
John picked up the other steth and secured it in his own ears, raising the other end to Sherlock's chest. Silence. Damn cheap piece of crap. "Can't hear anything through the fabric with this thing..."   
"We'll have to trade off at some point..." ...and when Sherlock's equipment came in the mail, there would be so much more to this. "But for now, allow me." Taking the Littman off , he pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. "Better?"   
John blinked, pink tongue brushing over chapped lips again. He'd seen Sherlock shirtless before, but it wasn't less appealing. And now that he was so close... "Yeah. Better." John placed the diaphragm back on his chest. Definitely better.   
Sherlock rolled his shoulders and put the Littman in his ears again, pressing it to John's chest in turn. "...yes. Much better."   
John slid his hand up Sherlock's back slowly and gently sealed their lips together again. He broke out in gooseflesh, shivering against the touch and pressing into John's lips. Immediately, his heart rate started to pick up.   
John smiled against his lips, his own heart beating harder, more eagerly as if it were showing the other man how much it enjoyed this. Sherlock wrapped his free arm around John's neck and relaxed his jaw to deepen the kiss, excited that he could make John excited, both hearts pounding. This is what living was.   
Happily, John matched the depth of the kiss, listening to the way Sherlock's heart reacted. It excited him to know that he was the one making Sherlock's heart pound like this. It was all John's doing.   
The ignored heart- which Sherlock claimed not to have for so long- pumped faster to the sound of John's own, to the fervent kissing, to...everything that was John. He couldn't help but press closer, trying to muffle a sound of pleasure.   
Curious as to how his younger lover would react, John parted his lips and brushed his tongue against the seam of Sherlock's mouth, wondering if he'd be invited in. Sherlock's heart was absolutely racing now. There was a brief hesitation before he parted his lips, breathing out from his nose in a gust.   
John's own heart was galloping in his chest as his tongue moved forward to brush against the detective's, exploring. It was intense. Overwhelming. Sherlock couldn't help but let out a soft noise, moaning and pulling back to pant for breath. His heart was beating hard enough to move John's hand and he could feel the other man's heart doing the same. John watched his hand move with the force of Sherlock's heartbeat. He smiled slightly and looked up to meet his eyes. "This is really what it feels like to love and be loved...isn't it?" His face was flushed and his eyes were bright.   
"Yes. I believe it is. And I do love you. Chemical defect or not."   
"Thank you." He stroked his fingers lightly down the back of John's neck.   
John shivered at the touch. "Sherlock," he breathed out, pulling him into another kiss.   
"Mmh," he replied, moving the diaphragm around to find another spot he liked. To get John's reaction, he moved it a bit more in slow circles.   
With Sherlock so focused on his heart, John's pulse began to climb again. He liked that Sherlock shared his fascination now.   
Ever the scientist, he busied his lips against John's and rubbed the back of his neck at the same time, pressing the chestpiece harder against the apex of John's heart. As if it had a mind of its own, John's heart pumped harder, pushing against the steth, moving Sherlock's hand. He grinned against John's lips, pressing himself forward and deepening the kiss himself, beckoning John to relax his jaw and part his lips. His kisses turned hungry like he meant to devour John. Like putty in his lover's hands, John relaxed and parted his lips. His heart continued to kick against the stethoscope as if trying to escape into the hand of the man it'd been given to.   
When Sherlock pulled away this time, it was with a gasp. He'd almost crawled into John's lap with how close he'd gotten. "I love the way you sound..."   
"I assume you're talking about my heart. It's you that's making it sound like this. And you can make it do so much more."   
"I like your voice too if it's any consolation." He chuckled, splaying his fingers wide to both hold the chestpiece in place and to feel the force of John's heartbeat. "...and I'm sure I can. Wait until my purchases come in."   
John removed his own stethoscope since Sherlock was talking and more focused on John's heart anyway. "Why won't you tell me?"   
"Because I'd rather see your face when you see what it is." Sherlock took off the Littman to mirror John's actions but not because he was finished. "Get comfortable. Lie back."   
Obediently, John laid down with his head propped against the pillows. "Don't I even get a hint?"   
"I'll let you take a turn at being the detective." Sherlock winked and draped himself over John, stretching out the entirety of his lanky body. Curling one leg between both of John's and wrapping an arm low around his stomach, he put his ear over the doctor's chest. He liked this. Much more intimate if muffled.   
"Are you ready for bed, then? You've barely given my heart a chance to slow down and relax after you got it all worked up."   
"Mm. I'm content unless you'd like a turn." Really, he was. He could stay like this, listening to John's heart slow, for hours. His hand moved to rest next to his head. He was feeling especially tactile, liking the sound of John's heartbeat and breathing and the way he could still feel John's heart pulsing against his hand. "...I like this."   
"You seem to like a lot of this. You keep saying it." John glanced down at his own chest, seeing his heart beating against Sherlock's hand.   
"Mmhm." It was like an organic metronome. He could compose to this, though the beat was ever changing. "...I want you to know that I enjoy you and your heart."   
"Good." John's heart gave one more hard thump before settling into its normal rhythm at 64bpm. "Because I enjoy you and yours, too, and I enjoy the effect you have on my heart."   
"The way you make mine race is better than a drug. It's yours to do with what you wish." His eyelids lowered and he started to relax with John.   
"I only want to cherish and protect it. To fill it with love. And I hope I'll be your only drug from now on."   
John really was a romantic. He could have rolled his eyes if it wasn't so endearing. "Mmh."   
"I love you, Sherlock. Promise you'll remember that."   
Sherlock kissed the spot over John's heart before settling down again. "It's not something I would ever delete."   
Content, John sighed and closed his eyes. This was perfect. He was happier than he'd ever been in his life and he and Sherlock were in love. The next time John looked down, Sherlock's eyes were closed. He might have been lulled to sleep. John passed his hand through the mop of onyx curls affectionately. Sherlock needed the sleep. John followed suit soon after.


	3. Fulfillment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets "new toys". John is over the moon. And sex doesn't alarm Sherlock at all. Let's see if we can reach our max bpm together.  
> "Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy." -Anais Nin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was previously punished unfinished. It's now complete. Chapter Four coming soon.

Sherlock was ecstatic when he had to sign for three packages, carrying them upstairs with all the exuberance of a child who'd just gotten a present. He carried the equipment into his bedroom and unpackaged it, carefully setting up everything and calibrating it. Pulse oximeter, portable ECG and his very own stethoscope. It had all been expensive but seeing John's face when he saw it would all be worth it. Not to mention the experiments to be performed.  
John stretched as he made his way upstairs, home from work. It'd been a long day and he was just looking forward to spending his night home with his boyfriend- sorry, partner. He opened the door, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. He took the stethoscope out of the pocket as had become routine in the last week. There was yet to be a night he hadn't used it. The flat was dim, one light on in the sitting room and one on down the hall in Sherlock's room. Usually he was waiting for John to come home on the sofa, setting the expectation for how the evening would go. Tonight Sherlock was waiting in his bedroom, curious and excited at the same time. He'd just decided to test the pulse oximeter for himself, sitting and watching the numbers on the device while he held his breath.  
Hanging his stethoscope around his neck, John made tea, figuring Sherlock was plenty occupied for the monent. When it was ready, he took two cups with him into the detective's bedroom. "I brought tea, if you--" he paused and looked at Sherlock. "Is that the package you've been waiting on? A pulse oximeter?"  
Sherlock only smiled, his face flushed and dark. This round he'd been holding his breath for over three minutes. His eyes periodically flicked down to the numbers on the device and he nodded at John's question. Of course when he was finished with the current experiment, he'd tell John everything else he'd purchased today.  
John looked unimpressed. "Breathe before I make you breathe. For gods sake." He set the cups of tea on the night stand. A brow lifted in query. He did not comply, shaking his head and pointing at the numbers. John rolled his eyes. "How long have you been holding your breath?" Sherlock held up four fingers, looking pleased with himself. Of course he'd been taught techniques from a freediver while working on an interesting case once.  
John folded his arms. "You go longer than five minutes and I won't kiss you all night."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out his breath slowly, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths rather than gasping. "...Four minutes, twenty seconds. Not my record, but if you insist."  
"Thank you." John sat beside him and raised his left hand to Sherlock's carotid pulse, unable to resist the desire to feel the recovering beats. His pulse beat hard against John's fingers, but the breathing technique he'd been taught had allowed him to slow his heartbeat.  
Sherlock seemed proud of himself. "I like to know my limits...you can have a listen if you like." John hummed and took the stethoscope from around his neck, fitting it in place and laying the diaphragm on his lover's chest, over his Erb's point. He kept his fingers on Sherlock's pulse even as he listened to the thumpy beats. Sherlock made a conscious effort to slow his heart, focusing his mind and his breathing to bring his heart rate down. Trying to impress John and show him that he knew what he was doing.  
After a little while, John set the stethoscope aside on the bed. "Not a lot of people can consciously calm their hearts."  
"I learned from a freediver. It's why I can hold my breath for so long." Taking the clip off from his finger and sitting up on the bed, he scooted towards the edge. "Look in my closet. I also purchased a portable ECG...and..." He reached under his pillow to pull out his own stethoscope, a Littman Master Cardiology. He held it up proudly. John beamed and knocked Sherlock back as he kissed him hard, splaying a hand over his heart.  
"Mmph!" The calm beat started to get faster under John's hand. Sherlock wrapped a leg around John and wrapped his arm around the back of his neck. Yes...this was exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.  
John pulled away, still grinning. "I love you so bloody much."  
"Good to know that wasn't a display of rage." Laughing, he laid back and let his free arm fall casually over his head. "I love you as well. It's why I did it."  
John kissed him a few more times. "I was already looking forward to spending my night with you, but now... and tomorrow I have the day off!"  
"Oh, very good...I've refrained from smoking or using patches today and I'll do so tomorrow as well." He started to stroke the back of John's neck. "...and I'll enjoy spending the night and the day with you, I'm sure."  
"I don't think I could be happier. Everything is just perfect for once. And I'm proud of you for not using nicotine today."  
Sherlock beamed at the praise. "I wouldn't have done it for anyone else, you know." Seeing John happy made him happy too. "Now then...what would you like to do tonight, John?"  
"Why don't we play with your new toys, hmm? I'm excited to find out what you have planned."  
"That was my plan so far...I wanted to see your face when you saw what I'd purchased." For once, he'd just wanted to see where the evening would go without plans or expectations. "But yes, let's. I've already calibrated everything."  
"You wanna test out your new stethoscope? It's a rather pretty one. Brand new. I might be jealous."  
"Oh, yes!" Sherlock squirmed until he could grab hold of it, fitting it into his ears and beckoning John to climb over him again. Grinning, he pressed the diaphragm over John's sternum. "There you are...you sound excited."  
"Well, that would be because I /am/ excited. My heart's been beating like this since you mentioned the ECG."  
"I was hoping you'd like that." He adjusted the diaphragm over the apex of John's heart, hearing it beating clearly. "I like how loud it sounds when you're hovering over me like this."  
Speaking of hovering... John blushed and shifted to kneel beside Sherlock instead. It wasn't beyond Sherlock's notice but he didn't bring attention to it. Rather, he leaned up when John shifted and started to kiss him. A pleased hum escaped John's throat and his heart began to push against Sherlock's hand eagerly. One hand held the chestpiece of the steth in place, his other hand lingering on John's neck for a moment more. He let it slip down to John's back to pull him down closer. He was trying to see just how excited he could make his lover and just how his heart would react. The force of the beats against his hand already had him excited. John's breath became shorter as his heart raced ecstatically. His hands slid over Sherlock's arms and up and down his sides. His pent up desire was barely kept a secret thanks to the thunderstorm in his chest.  
Sherlock pulled back from the kiss with a wet, almost lewd noise, leaning his head back and looking at John with knowing eyes. "One-forty two. Your heartbeat is starting to push your entire chest wall and I can feel it in your fingers." He took in a harsh breath and adjusted himself back. "...I know what it is that you want."  
John breathed deeply and swallowed hard. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just..." he sighed. "...nevermind. Forget it. I'll try and rein it in."  
Sherlock laughed, reaching to stroke a hand over John's face. "Why would I be uncomfortable? You are a ridiculous man." He took the steth out of his ears and put it to the side, pointedly putting a hand on the outside of John's thigh.  
John narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to process. "So... sex /doesn't/ alarm you? I mean... we can wait. I'm fine with waiting. I've wanted you this long; I'm used to holding back. But you're gorgeous. And your lips... you taste... mmph. And the way you get my heart racing..."  
"Sex isn't an activity I've sought out since Uni. Our relationship changes things, hm?" His hand slowly stroked the outside of John's thigh, moving gradually to the front of his trousers just to rest over the bulge there. "...I'm certainly not alarmed."  
John's breath hitched and he closed his eyes. "Sh-Sherlock..." He tried not to move, but internally, he was squirming.  
"It's all right." the detective leant up to kiss along John's carotid artery, feeling the blood surging there. "Just tell me what you want." ...as though he didn't already know.  
"You, Sherlock. Always you." He opened his eyes and maneuvered to make eye contact, gently pushing Sherlock back on the bed. "I want to know every inch of you as intimately as I know your heart. I want to feel... to hear your heart racing in the throes of pleasure."  
"And I..." He laid back, stretching out and running his hands gently up and down John's arms. "...would very much like that." He felt the unfamiliar stirring of desire in himself and his eyes burned brighter. The same look he had on his face when a very interesting case came his way, all focus and desire on the man above him. "I want you to have everything you desire. I want to feel it with you."  
John's heart was pounding hard enough to be visible in his chest as he stared down at his younger lover, eyes dark as midnight with desire. "I'm going to go upstairs and dig out my lube and condoms. You get the ecg set up and decide which of us will wear that and which of us will wear the oximeter."  
Grinning, Sherlock nodded. He wriggled out from under John and rolled off the bed onto his feet and to the closet to roll out the ECG. He considered. Pulse oximeter would be impractical if a lot of movement was involved unless there was a way for one of them to keep a hand still. ECG was less impractical and could stand up to more movement. He grinned, making his decision. Now he waited for John, both of their steths on the bed and Sherlock seated there with mischief in his eyes.  
John's hands trembled as he rifled through his dresser, finally uncovering his last two condoms and small bottle of personal lubricant. He returned downstairs with the items and slid into Sherlock's room quietly. He hadn't been this nervous about sex since his very first time.  
"Shirt off," Sherlock commanded instantly upon seeing John. He held one of the five ECG electrodes, twiddling it in his fingers. He was grinning, not seeming to be nervous at all. Excited if not a bit impatient. Very Sherlock.  
"Why do you look like an excited lion while I feel like a deer in headlights?" Sheepishly, John removed his button-down and t-shirt, hoping Sherlock didn't immediately stare at the scar on his left shoulder.  
Sherlock's eyes briefly flicked to the scar he knew was there but then fixed on the left side of John's chest where he could see his heart pumping through his skin. "Relax." He stood up to meet him, pressing the first lead against John's bare chest. "I'm setting bedroom rules. That is... anything that wouldn't be allowed normally..." He attached another lead to the upper left of John's chest. "...will be allowed here in this room. Behind this door..." another lead, bottom left. "...you'll never have to be nervous because I will be receptive." He attached the other three leads, switching the machine on and tinkering with it and with the volume. Rapid blips started to fill the room. "There we are."  
John tried to breathe deeply to slow his heart. It helped some, but not much. "Are you saying you don't want me to do anything with you outside the bedroom?"  
The younger tilted his head and the possibilities struck him. "...Nnno. I don't think I want to limit our activities to one room. All right...fine." He looked amused. "...or to this flat for that matter. Hmm..." Laughing at himself, he leaned down to kiss John, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "...how about for as long as you're with me and we both feel this desire, the normal rules are out."  
"I think I can handle that. Not limited to the flat, hmm?" John thought for a second, the beeping increasing pace when he settled on an idea. He pressed Sherlock onto the bed. "Good. Because I think I'd like to..." he straddled the younger man's narrow hips. "...sneak into Bart's sometime and play with their echo machine."  
"I like the way you think. John." He glanced up at the ECG display, grinning at the number he saw there. Grinning up at the man he called his lover, he hoisted his stethoscope up to him. After John had taken it, he wriggled out of his own shirt, tossing it away. His own scars didn't bother him like John's did him. "And I very much like the way you get excited for me."  
"And I haven't even hit my maximum heartrate yet," John pointed out, fitting the earpieces in, muffling the loud beeping of the ECG. He pressed the diaphragm into Sherlock's chest.  
"We'll work on that," Sherlock promised, gooseflesh breaking out over his skin when the diaphragm kissed his skin. It wasn't that cold, but his skin already associated the touch with intimacy. He rolled his hips and his heartbeat got louder, his heart pumping harder with the thrill of desire. "...I don't know mine. Care to find out with me?"  
"Its usually 220 minus your age, but physically finding out sounds much more fun." John pecked his lips. "Hang on. I want you to hear how beautiful your heart sounds right now." He kept the diaphragm in place and transfered the earpieces to the detective's ears.  
Sherlock didn't speak, just looked into John's eyes as his own heart beat loud in his ears. He pressed his hand against John's, pressing down harder so that they could both feel his heart surging against the pressure. "You make it do that. You make it pound."  
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like bragging about that." The doctor smiled and took the earpieces back. "Most beautiful sound in the world." He kissed him a little deeper.  
"No one else can. You may as well brag." He smiled into the kiss and then relaxed his jaw to allow John to kiss more deeply. He couldn't help but squirm as his heart picked up speed, the sound of blood wooshing through his heart was heard easily. It sounded like it was trying to match John's, the blips coming more rapidly, the peaks and valleys on the screen clearly illuminated. Sherlock slid his finger into the pulse oximeter and held out his left hand to try and keep it still.  
Talk about indulgence. John was hooked up to an ECG, listening to Sherlock's heart while the detective wore the pulse oximeter. A cardiophile's dream. "I want to try something," John whispered. "Take a deep breath and hold it." Curiosity lit Sherlock's eyes. Swallowing, he complied with a deep, slow breath, holding it and watching John. His heart started to speed up in protest with how wound up the detective was. "Now push out like you're trying to blow up a balloon, still holding your breath. Do that for about ten seconds and then exhale." Interesting! Sherlock's diaphragm pushed, stomach muscles tensing. As instructed, he held this for the count of ten, his heart going from racing to galloping, faster and faster until he felt lightheaded. The oximeter showed that the oxygen saturation in his blood was dropping. At the count of ten, he blew out the air in his lungs and his heart stumbled. Slow, thumping loudly and missing beats. It was an interesting feeling. "My god, your heart is incredible," John marveled. "That's called a push. A rare treat. Too many could be dangerous." He went back to kissing, deciding to explore the expanse of Sherlock's throat and smiling at the feeling of the carotid pulse on his lips. He took one of the pulse points in his mouth and sucked gently.  
"You like danger," Sherlock quipped, leaning his head back to give John access to the full expanse of his throat. He could still feel his heart trying to fall back into a regular rhythm, thumping harder for the trick he'd just made it do. His free hand carded through the short hairs at the nape of John's neck, a pleased hum coming from his throat at the attention.  
Experimentally, John grounded his hips against Sherlock's, creating hot, lustful friction. He moaned softly and his heart missed a beat. Sherlock perked at the momentary disturbance in John's heart rhythm, seeing an irregular dip in the readout. He had difficulty keeping his left hand still when all he wanted to do was grab John's hips and make him do that again. He was hard in his trousers, his own hips tilting up and rolling for more. John slid his free hand down and popped open the button on Sherlock's trousers, unzipping them and reaching inside to tease Sherlock through his pants. "So hard already," John breathed. "For me?" The touch resulted in Sherlock squirming, gasping and his heart thumping faster.  
"Oh, yes...that's what you've caused." He smirked and tried not to roll his hips. He tried to let John control the pace. "You should be proud of yourself."  
John smirked and glanced at the oximeter. "Nearly 155. We can do better than that, don't you think?"  
"I think so." The rush of his heart racing, thumping against his ribs at that rate already had him feeling exhilirated. "We should work on it." ...but of course, the rush could always be better.  
John released the steth only to tug at Sherlock's trousers, pulling them off. He put the diaphragm back on his chest. "Hold this in place," he demanded as he bent to mouth at Sherlock's hardness through his pants.  
Sherlock obeyed, confused for only a moment. "John," he gasped the man's name in surprise, trying not to move either hand from its task. His hips twitched when he felt the warmth of John's mouth through his pants, John's lips manipulating him. That earned John another rise in heart rate, 160.  
John moaned softly when he heard the additional increase in the speed of Sherlock's heart. He tugged at his pants, removing those too. Sherlock lifted his legs to allow the garment to be pulled off. Even his heavy erection bobbed with the force of his heartbeat. He could feel it through his chest and felt like it was rocking his entire body. John admired him openly, staring at him like one would stare at a work of art. His heart stumbled slightly and increased pace as he ran his hands over Sherlock's body.  
Sherlock's focus went from John's face to the readout on the screen again to trace the odd stumble in rhythm. When he looked back down at John and the worshipful expression he had on his face, he moaned, writhing at the sensation of hands running over his sensitized skin. 165. "John..."  
John looked up at him, darkened blue eyes almost black. "Sherlock." He didn't need to speak more than that. It was a one-word prayer. A hymn of praise. John bent Sherlock's knees so his feet were flat on the bed and he reached for the lube. The look John gave him just then was confirmation of his love. He would keep that look tucked away safely in his mind palaces for dark times, defining love with it.  
Tilting his pelvis to give better access, Sherlock pulled in deep breaths. Both hands were occupied so he couldn't reach out, but he did stroke along John's arm with the side of his foot. John spread lube onto three of his fingers, making sure it was adequately warm before reaching out. "Just relax," he instructed his writhing lover.  
He brushed his entrance before tracing the rim. He attempted valiantly to relax but the first touch set his nerve endings crackling with signals that made him want to writhe anew. Somehow, he kept his feet on the bed and breathed through the alien feeling. He didn't think it was possible for his heart to beat harder, but it did, the anticipation becoming its own thrill. "Breathe slow," John advised as he gently eased in his index finger. He moved as slowly as he could, pausing when it was all the way in. "You okay?"  
Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on relaxing his body. His heart started to slow as he breathed more slowly and he nodded to indicate he was fine. He had the sound of his own breathing and the blips of the ECG to focus himself. When his eyes opened again, they were dark with want. He wanted this experience, he wanted to feel John inside of him.  
John drew his fingers out carefully."Are you ready? You still want to do this?"  
The smile on Sherlock's face was the same one he had given John when he'd seen the equipment he'd purchased. "Oh, yes. Just remember to give me a moment to adjust when you're inside."  
"Yes, I know. Did you think I was just going to go at it like a dog in heat?"  
"I don't know. We've never done this before." Now he was just teasing John. "Come, now...don't make me wait." He mock-pouted, spreading his legs wider.  
John put his Littman aside. It would just get in the way. He sat up on his knees and opened his own trousers, having to get off the bed to strip them and his pants off properly. His erection stood proudly, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He picked up one of the condoms from the nightstand and rolled it on, adding lube to it before kneeling between Sherlock's legs.  
Sherlock couldn't help but stare for a long moment at John's cock. "Perfect," he said softly, allowing himself to move a bit with a hand now freed. He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed, stuffing it under his lower back to make it easier for both of them.  
John lined himself up, but didn't enter yet. He kissed Sherlock tenderly. "You're absolutely sure...?"  
"I am. I think I always will be." He pressed up to kiss John in return, closing his eyes. John let out a soft breath through his nose and pressed in only the tip. He waited for more approval. He hissed and arched his back. Warmth flooded his belly and settled there. "Don't stop, don't stop..."  
John nodded and slowly sank in all the way, moaning quietly when he was fully seated. His heart started pounding forcefully again, visible in his chest. "So tight..."  
Sherlock was panting by the time John was fully sheathed inside of him. His face flushed high on his cheekbones and across the top of his chest. 150. He looked up to watch John's heart fluttering, hearing the sound of the ECG with a rate matching his own. "God, please move...just a little...ah..." Desire was taking over his rational mind. The feeling of fullness was enough of a taste of this that he already wanted everything.  
Obliging, John slowly pulled out and pressed back in. He buried his face in Sherlock's neck, kissing at his pulse. Sherlock let out a strangled noise that was almost pleasure, almost pain. Such a slow, satisfying burn. His pulse was jumping at John's lips, his own lips parted to take in breath. "Ohh, it's good...it's good, it's good...nnnh..."  
"Just keep telling me what you want," John whispered. "I'll give you everything." He slowly rolled his hips again.  
Sex was taking away most of the genius' vocabulary, but he managed to nod. "More...I want more."  
"Faster or harder?"  
"I'm ready for both." Throwing caution to the wind. Why not? "Go with what feels right. I'll...let you know."  
John nibbled his neck and gradually began increasing pace.

Sherlock let out a noise like John had pushed the breath out of him, spreading his legs until the muscles at the inside of his thighs protested and his legs were trembling. His heart rate jumped back to 160 as he began to push back to meet John's thrusts, angling his pelvis to try and find what felt best. "Oh God... John," he gasped out at once, gripping the sheets with his free hand. "...nnh...harder. Need it harder now."  
John put his hand on Sherlock's chest- over his heart- as he began thrusting harder, deeper. He groaned softly. "Feels so perfect..."  
Sherlock was reduced to halting gasps and half-strangled sounds of pleasure, angling his pelvis just right. He supposed they'd found his prostate, the head of John's cock bumping it with every stroke. "Ah-yes! P...perrrr...fect. Nnh!"  
John was panting with effort as he thrust. He kept his own noises to a minimum, focusing on listening to Sherlock's every pleasure sound. He kept aiming for his prostate. "Sher-- Sh-Sherlock..."  
"AH!" Sherlock tensed, trying desperately to keep his hand still while the rest of his body spasmed. "Ah...ah...sl...slow down...going to...ah..." 170. 173. He clamped his hand around his own cock, squeezing down to keep himself from coming too soon.  
John grunted and forced himself to slow down. He kissed Sherlock's neck and moved to suck at his neck. Sherlock was panting, trying to control himself enough to keep going without immediately coming. His cries turned into whimpers when John kissed his neck, his heart slamming against John's hand and the pulse at his neck surging like the blood was trying to escape.  
John licked at Sherlock's pulse point hungrily. "I'm close," he panted. "Will you come for me, Sherlock?" He nibbled at his ear lobe and thrust haphazardly and without rhythm.  
Sherlock was reduced to animal noises, gripping onto John's shoulder and meeting his thrusts. That was all the permission he'd needed to seek his release again. The increasing frequency of blips in the room matched the rushing of his own pulse. 186. He cried out in his release, just peaking at 190 and feeling like every part of him would burst. It was intense and he was vacant for a long moment, just panting and making desperate noises between waves of   
endorphins.  
Sherlock clenching around him was all John needed to hit his release. He cried out and tensed as he came, slowing to a halt, just after his heartrate maxed out at 184. After, he collapsed on top of Sherlock breathlessly, his heart skipping in its attempt to slow.  
Flopping back bonelessly, Sherlock tried to catch his breath, sweat and come between them. If he was still for just a moment, he could feel both their hearts pounding together. When he came back to himself a little more, he reached to stroke the sweaty fine hairs at the back of John's neck.  
John made some sort of sound and moved to lay his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his heart return to its normal, slower rhythm. Humming pleasantly, Sherlock ran his hand through John's hair. He'd let John lie there for as long as he liked this way, his heart thumping more slowly now, gradually beating softer as he calmed.  
When the beeping of the ECG slowed, John sat up slightly and kissed his lover sentimentally. "You are so fucking incredible. ..'  
Sherlock returned John's kiss slowly, then flopped back onto the mattress again. "...nnnh." John pulled out of him carefully, sliding the condom off and tying it. He laid on his back beside Sherlock and held his hand.   
Sherlock slipped his finger out of the oximeter clip and curled onto his side, his arm flopping around John. "...it's so...quiet," he remarked dreamily. His brain wasn't flying at high speed just then...completely quiet.   
"Not yet it's not," John laughed. Carefully, he removed the ECG leads. "There. Now it's quiet."  
"...mmh. Now it's quiet outside of my head too." He gave John a sleepy look. "You do good work. I've never had an orgasm like that before."  
John laughed softly. "I 'do good work', hmm? Never had it put quite that way before. Still... thanks, I suppose."  
Sherlock hushed him, wearing a sleepy smile as he situated himself on John's chest, listening to that calm, familiar lubdub. The beat that was all for him, now.  
"Hm... Sher? What about a shower? We're both kind of-"  
But the detective cut him off. "Later. We can shower later. After all. A lot can happen between now and later."


	4. And Now I See Your Heart Truly Belongs to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking into St Bartholomew's Hospital for some echocardiogram fun. Unfortunately, things don't always go according to plan, and Sherlock ends up finding out about John's time without him. Minor angst. A bit of smut. A bit of fluff. Always cardiophilia. Try to enjoy.

It was a chilly night to be out but that just meant what they were about to do would be even easier. Less people out. Less people in the hospital when they arrived. People were used to seeing Sherlock in Bart's at all hours and would assume he was headed down towards the lab or the morgue rather than anywhere near diagnostic equipment. No one would be surprised to see John with him either. Local celebrities and a norm around the hospital. It was one of Molly's few days off, however. He'd probably have to pick a few locks to get them where they wanted to be.   
John followed in his wake, his face stoic and practiced though he was giddy inside. First time he'd ever been excited about breaking and entering. He walked a little closer to Sherlock nowadays, their hands occasionally brushing. Sherlock knew the trick to not getting caught. They just had to act like they belonged there.  
When they finally did get to the correct wing, Sherlock took the hand that had been hovering near his all night and grinned, pulling John up the stairs with him rather than taking an elevator. He only let him go for the sake of balance, running up two flights and meeting John at the top. Entering the hall was easy. Moving towards the exam room, they didn't encounter another person. Perfect. The room was locked, the light was out. Sherlock had the lock picked in under a minute, opening the door just slightly. "Ready?"  
John finally broke into a wide grin. "Oh, I've /been/ ready, love." He slipped inside the room, pulling Sherlock with. Immediately, the doctor went for some medical tape and spare paper which he used to block the window on the door- just in case. He locked the door again and turned to Sherlock, his eyes bright and excited. Sherlock chuckled. opening his coat to empty his pockets. He'd brought along their stethoscopes, condoms, lube and a few other things still tucked away.  
Whipping off the coat and his scarf, Sherlock draped them over one of the chairs in the room, putting everything he'd taken out down on a side table. "You're so excited."  
John stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist and looking up at him, still smiling. "And you're not?"  
"Of course I am." He bent down to peck John's lips, pressing close against him so they could both feel their hearts pounding together.  
"Good." John kissed him again before pulling away completely and clearing his throat. "Shirt off. On the table. Now."  
Sherlock's eyebrows perked up at the sudden change of tone and he smirked. "Yes, sir," he obliged with a chuckle, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off from his shoulders, tossing it to join his coat. He hopped up onto the table and got himself comfortable.  
"Oh, you think it's funny, do you?" John moved around him, taking off his coat and cardigan. "Is it amusing when I give you orders?" Oh. John wasn't being playful, he was displaying authority.  
The smirk dropped into slightly pursed lips, his eyes on John. That was... well, it was causing something to stir low in his belly. "No. Of course not."  
"I thought not. Disobedience or failing to take what I tell you seriously could result in certain... punishments." John purred the last word, letting it draw out slightly. He wheeled the machine close and began prepping the ECG leads. Sherlock seemed worried momentarily but not due to any punishments John would dole out. John speaking to him like that was actually exciting him. It wasn't something he'd ever explored before, this kind of...kink. Remembering to breathe again after a long moment of just staring at John, the detective nodded. "Lay down," John demanded.After Sherlock obeyed, John attached four leads, leaving space to explore Sherlock's heart with the echo. He rubbed some of the propylene glycol gel onto Sherlock's chest. Involuntarily, Sherlock shivered when the gel touched his skin. It hadn't been that cold, but the touch alone was enough at the moment to set off goosebumps across his skin. John was making him hypersensitive with this new twist in their dynamic. "What do you intend to do with me?"  
"Anything I please." John turned on the machine and adjusted the settings as he picked up the wand. "Deep, calming breath."  
Sherlock's eyebrows perked again and his eyes momentarily flit away from John to assess the situation. Swallowing, he took in a slow breath, letting it out just as slowly. John touched the wand to Sherlock's chest, watching the screen. His lips twitched when Sherlock's heart appeared on screen, dutifully pumping away. Sherlock looked at the screen as well, interested in the view just as John was. Waiting until the doctor was focused on the image, he slowly, slowly reached out to touch John's wrist. Wanting to take his pulse just as much as he was testing the new dynamic.  
John pulled his wrist away. "Ah. Did you ask?" He gave Sherlock a warning glance.  
The smirk came back. "Apologies. May I, John?"  
"Do you think you deserve to? Have you earned it?"  
"How would you like me to earn it?" He waited for the answer, searching John's eyes. His heart rate had gone up already since he'd been denied.  
"Hold your breath. I want to watch your heart pound for me. Two minutes is plenty." Sherlock swallowed again. This excited, holding his breath was going to be more difficult. Regardless, he nodded to take the challenge. Two deep breaths, slowly in and slowly out...then he closed his eyes and took in the deepest breath he could in that position, pressing his lips together and holding it. He tried to focus to calm his heart but the traitorous organ only wanted to beat faster.  
John watched the rapid movement on the screen and something stirred in the pit of his stomach. A trace of a smile touched his lips. When the two minutes was up, he looked at Sherlock. "You may exhale now."  
Once or twice, Sherlock's face twitched with the need to breathe but he'd made it until John allowed him to let the breath out. His next few breaths were rapid, filling his lungs while his heart performed on the screen, trying to decide if it wanted to slow down or speed up. "Your heart is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It certainly enjoys showing off doesn't it?" He moved so he could kiss Sherlock's forehead before offering his wrist as a reward.  
"I think it likes you." He slipped his fingers around John's wrist, sighing slowly when he could feel the pulse beating there. "It does belong to you, after all."  
John's own pulse was quick with excitement. "And I am proud to own it." Sherlock sneaked a kiss onto John's wrist to show his own appreciation for the pulse beating there. John smiled. "We'll let your heart calm down before we do anything else. You want to listen to mine?"  
"That won't do anything to calm it, but I would like that, yes." He remembered to ask just then. "May I?"  
"Of course you may." John reached over and picked up Sherlock's stethoscope, handing it to him. He worked open the buttons on his shirt with his free hand. Sherlock fit the earpieces into his ears and beckoned John closer so that he could press the chestpiece against John's sternum. Something like calm washed over his expression, his breathing going shallow like he didn't want to disturb anything. The excited pumping under his hand made his heart respond in turn.  
John watched Sherlock's heart pump faster, mesmerized by the quick movement of the valves. "Guess you were right about not calming your heart any."  
"Just...excited." He glanced at the screen, then up at John, smiling. With the sound of John's pounding heart in his ears, he wondered how it would react... "What would you like me to do for you now, sir?"  
John's eyes widened slightly and his heart skipped into a sprint. That, he liked. That, he could get used to. "Do a push for me. I trust you remember how."  
Oh, and John /liked/ it! Desire made Sherlock's face flush...apparently he liked it too. "Of course..." Inhaling and holding again, he pushed the air out with his stomach but kept it in his lungs. To the count of ten, his heart went from somewhere close to 110 to 180, slamming in his chest and fluttering on the screen. He let the breath out in a gust, his heart stilling on the screen before thumping against his ribs, stilling again. This happened a few times before his heart skipped, beat, then skipped, his valves quivering on the screen as his heart tried to find a rhythm.  
John's heart beat faster at the sight. "Okay. Breathe slower now. We need to calm your heart some before we switch positions."  
Sherlock obliged again, trying to breathe more slowly. He was met with some resistance when his heart skipped in protest a few more times between slow breaths but eventually, it would even out again. "...you liked that," he commented, smiling up at John.  
"Well of course I did. I like anything your heart does for me."  
"Not just that. You like when I follow your orders." He took the steth out of his ears and laid back a bit more to allow his heart to finish calming.  
"Oh that. Well, yes. I like that too."  
"What do you want to do now, John?"  
"I think it's my turn on the table, hmm?"  
"I believe you're right. Could you get me a towel?"  
John set the wand aside and removed the ECG leads. He tore off the printout and fetched a towel, handing it to Sherlock. Sherlock wiped the gel off from his chest and slid off from the table.  
He patted the tabletop to indicate that John should take his place. "We'll need to borrow this room more often."  
"Hm. I think you're right." The older of the two men shucked off his shirt and situated himself on the table.  
"I'm always right." Sherlock leaned over to kiss John while he was placing the leads on John's chest, stroking a hand down the middle when he was finished. He fetched the gel and squirted some on his fingers first, spreading it slowly over John's heart to tease him.  
John's heart pattered against Sherlock's hand as the doctor watched his lover. Now that it was his turn, Sherlock intended to get his way as well. He pressed the wand across John's chest. "Let's see..." Trying to find a good image, he stopped when he could see the valves of John's heart working excitedly. "...there it is. Still so excited."  
"Can't help it when I'm around you."  
"Can you see all right?" Sherlock adjusted his own position to give a better view.  
"I can see just fine," John assured him.  
"Good." There was a moment of pause in which it seemed like Sherlock was just content to watch. The grin on his face should have given it away, however. He worked the fly of John's trousers open one-handed. "Just relax...remember to keep breathing, John."  
John's breath hitched and his heart sped up, pounding forcefully.  
"I said keep breathing. Don't move." He parted John's trousers once he got the fly undone, gently stroking at the bulge in his underwear. He kept glancing back at the screen to see John's heart pound on the screen. "Lovely...do you know what I'm going to do now, John?"  
"Mmnnnhhh... Ss-surprise me."  
"Dangerous words." He peeled the front of John's pants down so that he wouldn't have to move and disturb the image on the screen. "...but as you wish. You must be aching by now..." 'I like danger according to you,' John thought. "A-- a bit, yeah."  
The look on Sherlock's face was one that was usually a precursor to disaster, his voice dropping low. "...I have you exactly where I want you now." Dipping down, he kissed the tip of John's cock and then took it into his mouth.  
John's heart skipped hard and he gasped. "Oh-- Sherlock..." He tried to prop himself up a bit to watch, panting slightly.  
Sherlock's eyes had been on the screen at just the right time. He'd seen John's heart skip- and he'd been the one to cause it! Focusing, he took in a breath and slowly, slowly took all of John's length into his mouth and throat. He wasn't able to hold it there for long, but he did manage eye contact before he slid back and took in a breath, starting to bob his head in a slow rhythm.  
John's heart skipped again when they made eye contact and the doctor moaned. Sherlock's mouth was everything he imagined it would be, but better. So hot and wet and... perfect. Sherlock kept glancing up at both John and the screen, pleased at what he saw with both. Taking a deep breath again, he took John in as deeply as he could and concentrated on bobbing his head in a steady rhythm and not choking.  
John groaned almost continuously. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to focus on just /feeling/. When Sherlock did come up for air, he continued with his free hand, taking a moment to watch John's heart pounding on the screen while he rested. "Absolutely lovely."  
"I'm... mmmph... not gonna... last a whole lot longer," John managed to get out.  
"I don't mind." He turned back to John's face. "Do you?" Back down he went. The wet noises of John's cock being sucked and taken down Sherlock's throat were absolutely lewd.  
John panted for breath and gripped the edge of the table with one hand, his knuckles turned white with his tight grip. "Oh my fucking god..." He swallowed hard and tried to hang on, but it really wasn't much longer before his cock twitched violently. "Sherlock!" He brought his free hand to his mouth and bit his fist to stifle his cry as he came hard.  
Sherlock flinched and swallowed, trying to watch the screen during the orgasm to watch how hard John's heart was pumping. After what seemed like an age of swallowing, Sherlock pulled back and breathed, clearing his throat while he continued to watch. It was such an interesting change as John's heart gradually slowed. "...all right?"  
John laid himself back down. He was quiet a moment while he caught his breath. "All right? All right?! You come at me with your hot, perfect mouth and you blow my mind and then you ask if I'm alright?!" He laughed breathlessly.  
Sherlock chuckled, making sure he'd cleaned John off with his tongue before carefully tucking him back away into his pants. "I wanted to see what it would do to your heart."  
John grunted as he was cleaned. "Yeah? Hope you're satisfied with the results. I can still feel it beating against my ribs."  
"Very satisfied." He stood there watching for a while longer before taking John's hand with his free one. "I'm very fortunate that you shared this with me."  
"I'll share everything with you as long as we're together. Even if we were to... y'know... I wouldn't regret any of this."  
The younger leaned down to kiss John, nudging their noses together. "Anything else you'd like to try while you're on the table, John?"  
"No. But once I recover, I want /you/ on any usable surface in this room."  
"As you like." Chuckling low in his chest, he nuzzled into John's neck and started to kiss and nip at his throat.  
"Mm... Sher, I've barely recovered. Don't tease now..."  
"Why?" Sherlock kissed one last time and smiled. He finally put the wand down and used the same towel John had gotten him earlier to wipe the gel off from his chest.  
"Because it's not fun when there's a spark but a delay in flow."  
"Take all the time you need. I'll just be...over here." ...teasing even more without even touching John, listening to his own heart with his stethoscope and looking John right in the eye while doing it.  
John sat up and slid off the table, watching Sherlock. "You're listening without me," he pouted, grabbing his own steth and slowly approaching Sherlock.  
"Just needed to make sure it was still there. Not used to it existing yet. You understand."  
John smirked. "It's there. I promise. It's there and it's perfect and all mine." He took the diaphragm off Sherlock's chest and placed it on his own. Sherlock tried not to tease more but the temptation was there. He closed his eyes and listened to John's heart beating, seeing it in his mind's eye based on the sight earlier. John fit his own steth into his ears and placed the bell of the head over Sherlock's tricuspid, listening happily.  
There was a long moment between them spent listening to one another. Sherlock reached slowly to touch John's chest with his other hand, wanting to feel it too. John opened his eyes slowly to look at his lover's blissful expression. He smiled slightly and leaned up to kiss him tenderly. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, still picturing, feeling and listening to John's heart all at the same time. He pressed into it and tilted his head for a better angle. John purred happily, listening to his lover's heart speed up. His senses were drowning in everything Sherlock.  
Sherlock moved from kissing John's lips to kissing his neck again, teasing. He knew what John had said, but he was so impatient! John made a small noise and tilted his head, granting Sherlock better access.Sherlock eagerly sucked at the skin there, nipping lightly and kissing over the carotid. He was working himself up if nothing else.  
"Mm... mmpph. Sherlock," John murmured, arching into him.  
"I want you," Sherlock murmured, licking a slow stripe up John's neck.  
John reached for Sherlock's trousers, undoing the button with one hand. "And who am I to deny you such a thing?" The sleuth's heartbeat picked up speed again, his breath hitching momentarily when John worked at his fly. John slid the zipper down and reached into his pants, rubbing teasingly. Sherlock's hips jerked immediately and he moaned in a short burst, breathing into John's neck.  
The elder pushed his lover's pants and trousers down suddenly and reached around to cup his plush arse. Sherlock's mouth fell open and he huffed out against John's neck, eyes still closed. He tensed and tried to keep himself still, but ended up squirming a bit. John set his own steth on the table, out of his way. He pushed his own pants and trousers down, pulling Sherlock's hips flush against his own.  
Sherlock mirrored John's actions to get his steth out of the way, just wanting to feel his body against John's. He wrapped both arms around his neck and writhed against him. John held him tightly, one hand on hid arse and one buried in the array of dark curls. He rolled their hips together, mouth seeking out the detective's again. The friction felt like it would never be enough. There would never be enough of John covering him, on him, touching him. He gasped into John's mouth.  
John tugged on his hair experimentally, ravaging his mouth with his tongue, tasting himself there. Sherlock hummed his approval, dull fingernails digging into John's shoulders. John tugged again, breaking the kiss and staring at Sherlock with lust-darkened eyes. "I need you now." Sherlock craned his head back with the tug, breathing hard when John broke from him. He nodded. "Get the lube. And a condom."  
Sherlock kissed John briefly right before jumping up to grab the items, stepping out of his pants on the way. He put the condom in one of John's hands and the lube in the other.  
"Turn around. Put your hands on the wall. And don't make a sound until my cock is inside you. D'you understand?"  
John's change of tone made a shock of desire coarse through him. "Yes, sir," he replied too eagerly, turning to put his hands on the wall. This time he was almost trembling with anticipation.  
"Legs shoulder-width apart," John instructed, spreading lube on his fingers already. Sherlock spread his legs obediently, bending at the knee so as not to lock them up. He was struggling not to speak or make any noise, wanting to badly. "I'm going to open you up for me, okay?" He ran his fingers up and down the cleft of his ass.  
Sherlock showed his consent by stretching himself back and tilting his arse up to give John better access. He kept his breathing steady and bit down on his tongue to keep from making a noise.  
Slowly- as if to tease- John slipped the tip of his middle finger inside and traced the rim. Sherlock couldn't help it. A small noise escaped from his throat and his fingernails were scraping against the concrete wall.  
Abruptly, John withdrew his finger. "What was that?"  
Damn it. Sherlock went completely still, lips tightly pressed into a line.  
"Well....?"  
"...I made a noise," he said flatly in admission.  
"And what was your direct order?"  
"To not make a sound until your cock was inside of me."  
"And you disobeyed, didn't you?"  
"Yes." Sherlock fidgeted.  
"What does that mean?"  
He turned his head to look at John, unsure."...You'll punish me?"  
"Yes. That's what happens when you disobey a direct order."  
"How will you punish me?" "I think I should make my heart race and deny you listening or feeling the recovery."  
"I didn't mean to," Sherlock sighed out. "Another chance. I'm not used to being touched and you know that. ...Please?"  
"Nope." The next step was to bargain but Sherlock had nothing to bargain with other than a pathetic look and pouting eyes. "That look won't work on me, Sherlock. You disobeyed and you must be punished."  
"Very well." He glared at the wall, standing more upright to be comfortable.  
"Do you accept your punishment?"  
"If I don't?"  
"I'll choose another."  
"A part of me is very curious to see what you would come up with."  
"I'm half-tempted to spank you."  
Sherlock let out a rich laugh, not mocking but genuinely amused by the thought. "...would that in itself get your heart racing?"  
"Possibly."  
There was a thoughtful silence, Sherlock's hands still on the wall. "Try it." After all, neither of them knew if he liked it.  
"Spanking you?"   
Sherlock shrugged, giving John a grin.  
"The other punishment sounds more like an actual punishment. "  
Sherlock pressed his forehead against the wall and sighed. "If you must."  
"Well, which is it?"  
"It's your decision..." He made himself to be more submissive again, turning his head to give John an open, pouting look. "Sir."  
John swallowed down a groan at being called 'Sir'."Should we just try both?"  
"It's your decision... after all, I disobeyed you, sir."  
Again with the 'Sir'. John swallowed. "Yet I still need you to accept."  
"Oh." His voice went back to normal, the submissiveness gone for a moment to consent. "I accept my punishment. I trust you...sir."  
John sighed; it had gotten confusing. Sherlock wasn't helping make a decision, and now John didn't know which he should do. Confusion and certainly ruin a mood. "You know. Nevermind. It's all kind of lost it's novelty now."  
Sherlock deflated and took his hands off from the wall. He frowned. Had he messed it up? "Sorry..."  
"Its not your fault. Let's pack up and go home." John picked up their towel from earlier and wiped off his lube covered hand.  
Sherlock huffed. Regardless, he snatched his clothes and hastily got into them, putting things back into his coat pockets. His punishment was apparently leaving unsatisfied.  
John pulled up his pants and trousers and tugged on his shirt. "Are you actually cross with me right now?"  
Sherlock's answer was a moody glare. Everything had been going so well, too. He finished tying his shoes and fled the room.  
John groaned and tapped his head against the wall a few times. What the hell? Why was Sherlock so angry? It wasn't John's fault the mood fell flat.  
It made Sherlock more angry when he didn't quite understand what had gone wrong or why he was so upset. What had he done wrong? What had John wanted from him? Was he just bad at this?  
John pulled on his cardigan and coat and ran after Sherlock. He had to fix this somehow.  
Sherlock was already outside by the time John caught up with him, giving the air in front of him an irritable look. The anger was turning inwards with nothing else to rationally attach it to. He sighed out a plume of smoke, a lit cigarette in his hand. Something to calm the irritation.  
John skidded to a halt at Sherlock's side, trying to catch his breath. "Sher... Sherlock, why.... what did I do?"  
Sherlock spared John a glance and stood there for a long moment, unhurriedly taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand. John had him waiting and wanting against a wall and then...suddenly John had lost interest. What was he supposed to make of that? "Go home, John."  
"Not without you."  
Sherlock's lips twitched in irritation. He took another drag and blew it out slowly. "I don't understand."  
"Don't understand what?"  
"What I did wrong."  
"It wasn't you specifically. Just the whole back and forth thing and indecisiveness sort of killed the mood. I'm sorry. That kind of thing happens occasionally."  
"How was I supposed to know what you wanted?" The back and forth had been confusing to him.  
"I was asking you what you wanted. You weren't being extremely clear. But then... neither was I. A poor miscommunication on both parts."  
"You don't usually ask someone to choose a punishment." He gave John a sort of frown, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and flicking it away. "Though from now on, do just assume you have consent unless I tell you otherwise." He started to walk towards the road, not even giving John time to catch up.  
"It was better than running the risk of doing something that you wouldn't have liked." He bustled to keep up. "As far as consent... this relationship is still new to me. Being with a man is new to me. And normally you're so... so touchy. You're like a ticking time bomb. I'm terrified of royally fucking up and losing you over it. You don't know what being without you does to me!"  
"Ridiculous." Sherlock stopped all at once, scanning the road for a taxi. "I don't know what I like until I've tried it. If you have the urge to do something and I don't tell you no, explore it." He turned to John sharply. "And for God's sake, if you ever have me up against a wall again, hard as I am, and decide to not finish what you start, I won't speak to you for a week."  
"Did you even hear half of what I said?"  
A smirk touched his mouth. "Relationships in general are new to me. I'm not going to end it because you did something we discovered I didn't like. ...I'd never been penetrated before, but I liked that." He shrugged.  
"You still didn't hear me."  
Sherlock went over what John had said. "Which part am I meant to focus on? The part where you're scared of losing me or the part where I'm apparently a ticking time bomb?"  
"You don't know what being without you does to me," John repeated. "You don't know what happened after you... and it almost happened again when your brother exiled you."  
"So you're afraid of losing me." Sherlock fished in his pocket until he found a mint, popping it into his mouth.  
"You still don't understand. I'll show you when we get home, alright?"  
"I'm not sure what I'm not understanding." He timidly slotted his hand into John's. First public display of affection, not that anyone was out to see them.  
John squeezed his hand. "Like I said. I'll show yoy when we get home."  
Sherlock stepped forward but didn't let go of John's hand when he flagged down a taxi. He only let go to get into the cab and settle in to give John room. John slipped in next to him, resting a hand on Sherlock's knee. "221B Baker Street," Sherlock told the cabbie, putting his hand over John's and keeping it there. John slid closer and kissed his partner's shoulder. Sherlock slipped his hand into John's more properly, idly stroking the pad of his thumb over his knuckles. Quiet but no longer angry.  
Silently, they rode home and with a sigh, John paid the cabbie before getting out and leading Sherlock inside. "Up to my room. C'mon." Sherlock followed, curious. What is it that John wanted to show him?  
John gestured for the detective to sit on the bed as he rummaged through his closet, finally coming up with a file folder. "How much do you know about what happened to me in the two years you were gone?"  
Sitting on the bed, the younger tilted his head curiously. Seeing the folder in John's hands, running back the conversation... "...not much, regrettably."  
"I had to return to my therapist. I was depressed. I didn't leave the flat for weeks. Barely ate except for what Mrs Hudson forced on me."  
Sherlock frowned. "...Do I want to see what you're about to show me?"  
"Well, no. But I think you need to." He handed over the folder, obviously from St Bart's. The tab read 'Watson, John H.' Inside, was a thick stack of papers. ECG printouts, chest xrays, echo photos, prescription notes, and sheets from John's chart. Standard issue information packets on Stress Cardiomyopathy with diagrams and photos matching the echo and ECG results. Sherlock found the informational packets more helpful than the rest of the data. Once he understood what he was looking at, a mournful expression came over his face. Guilt was stabbing his own heart. He let out a long, shaky breath and handed the folder back, wanting it away from him. John took the folder and tucked it away again.  
"They thought I was having heart attacks at first. Then they found out that it was stress cardiomyopathy. Broken-heart syndrome. Usually clears up in a week. I was like that for a month. Because you were gone."  
All the wit and intellect in the world wouldn't have given Sherlock any words. All he could do was stand up and take John into his arms, pulling him close.  
John gave sort of a laugh. "I appreciate it, Sher, but we both know I'm fine now. Have been." It didn't make Sherlock feel better. It didn't fix what he'd done, did it? "Sher. Sherlock. Really, I'm fine. You're here. You're mine. I love you."  
Sherlock pulled back, his hands on either side of John's face. He hunched a bit to meet him eye to eye. "Yes. I am yours. There's no further need for your worries. I'm not going anywhere as long as I can help it. One misstep will not make me leave you, do you understand?"  
John sighed. "Yeah, Sherlock. I understand. But I didn't know that before."  
"Cast away these ridiculous fears." He kissed John's lips softly, reassuring him. "I am here. I'm not leaving."  
"Promise? Because you weren't going to leave before..."  
"Promise, swear...whatever it is you'll have me do."  
"The only things I want you to do are promise not to leave me again and to love me. Unconditionally, if you can."  
"I won't leave you again...and remember that this belongs to you." He guided John's hand over his chest, pressing their foreheads together. "...I have been more concerned with you losing interest and patience with me, to be honest. Leaving you never crossed my mind."  
"I could never lose interest in you. I do lose my patience with you daily but that's who you are. That's your personality. It's what you do. You... you're everything to me Sherlock. You came at me like a whirlwind and you saved me. You changed my life. Made me healthy again. Made me happy again. I almost died without you. You have to understand that... I've never needed anyone before. But I need you. Always. Love doesn't happen overnight, but I'll damned if I didn't fall in love with you the day I moved in."  
"I regret that we never explored it before now." His voice was a low murmur. "I am sorry. I never realized the impact I'd had on you. I never dared to let myself hope that you might have...felt the same." Another soft kiss. Just intimacy, not trying to stir desire. "Love is a terrible thing. It can hurt...so badly." They both knew that. "...I'm sorry that I never showed myself to you."  
"I never would have dreamed that you /could/ feel the same. Irene was throwing herself at you. Completely naked. And you never even blinked. I thought you were asexual. Or aromantic. Or both."  
Sherlock shrugged. "I was. Of course, the work was everything...sex and romance were only distractions that led to sentiment. Chemical defect." He breathed out slowly. "...and then there was you."  
"Why am I any different? If anyone, Irene should have been... She was clever and pretty and above average. Extraordinary. Like you like."  
"Irene Adler was an exceptional woman." His hands moved down to John's shoulders. "...but then, John Watson is an exceptional man. He's not as clever as me... but that doesn't bother me. I like that I can read what he's thinking. I like that he's predictable, comfortable and so... ordinary. And yet... he has an edge to him. Fierce and loyal... and so very fun. He's everything I'm not. Everything I need."  
"Sherlock, I'm... I'm not--"  
"Yes. I think you are."  
John was quiet for a long while before he sighed. "Okay... if you think so..."  
"If only you knew." Another brush of lips. "No one else has ever made me feel like this. I know I can trust you. I can be comfortable around you...I don't ever have to hide myself from you or play mindgames."  
"Well, you do play mindgames when you're trying to impress me. You're a bit of a showoff," John laughed slightly.  
"But I don't have to play games with you to understand what you're thinking. I don't have to guess if something you say has another meaning. You aren't a puzzle and somehow you've had the misfortune of falling in love with me."  
"Misfortune?! Sherlock, aside from being hospitalized due to a broken heart, falling in love with you is the best thing that could have happened to me."  
Sherlock favored John with a smile, feeling warm. "Don't ever feel that you're less than, John."  
John kissed him sweetly. "Can I tell you a secret?"  
"You can tell me anything."  
"I almost didn't marry her..."  
"Can I tell you a secret, then?"  
"Yes, of course."  
"I wanted you to be happy more than anything and you were happy with her at the time. Everything I did was for you...even though the wedding and the month of silence afterward tore me apart."  
"She never made me as happy as you do. She just filled the void for a while. Then she killed you, and..." John sighed. "I'm well rid of her. Better off with you. This is where I belong."  
Sherlock had nothing further to say on the subject, only held onto John like they'd drift apart if he didn't. John held on just as tightly, like clinging to a lifeline. "I love you."  
"I love you," Sherlock echoed, looking over at John's bed and then at John. "...let's go to my room. The bed is bigger." Honestly, he just wanted to lie down with John and hold him.  
"Okay." The doctor lingered for a moment longer before drifting away, taking Sherlock's hand as he headed back downstairs.

Sherlock disrobed, tossing his clothing into a corner to be dealt with later and pulled out a pair of soft pajama pants to slip on. He got into bed to wait for John, settling under the covers. John stripped down to his boxers and slid in beside Sherlock. "We have the whole day together tomorrow."  
He curled into John with a hum, throwing an arm around him. "Technically, we have our entire lives together, but go on."  
John laughed but the hummed thoughtfully. "Our whole lives, hmm? You mean you want to grow old and grey with me?"  
"Old, yes; grey, no. Who else would I spend my life with?"  
"Why not grey? And I dunno I kind of wondered if you and Moriarty wouldn't run off together," he teased.  
"That's not funny." He moved even closer until there was no space left between them. "...I'm not going to go grey. I'll dye it.  
"I thought it was funny. The man flirted with you enough. Dye your hair, though? D'you know how odd that will look? You'll be full of wrinkles with black hair. Bit creepy. I think you'd look distinguished with grey hair."  
"He's still out there somewhere. Could always give him a call." He nuzzled into John. "....fine, I won't dye it."   
"You do that and I'll hunt him down myself. I mean it when I say you're mine."  
"I also mean it when I say I'm yours." He didn't want to think about Moriarty any longer, shuddering against John.  
John held him tightly. "So what are we gonna do when we get old. I won't be able to run around anymore."  
"No... if I'm anything like my father, neither will I. I suppose I'll have to retire."  
"Retire? We just gonna sit in rocking chairs out in the country and hold hands?"  
Sherlock laughed. "I have to have something to keep my mind occupied. "I'll do research...experiments..." He yawned. "How do you feel about bees?"  
"Bees? Well, we wouldn't have food without them. Why?"  
"It doesn't take much to have an apiary. I think I'd like to study bees."  
"Okay. You'll study bees and I'll watch you from my rocking chair. Might even take up knitting."  
"You could teach medicine. You'd get so bored."  
"I'd be old. It wouldn't matter. Besides, I'd make a terrible teacher."  
"You've taught me how to be more human and how to have a heart."  
"You already had a heart. I only showed you how to appreciate it. "  
"Well. You showed me how to use it too."  
"I don't think you needed much showing. You just needed to be reminded that a full heart isn't a weakness. In fact, it can make you stronger.  
Sherlock wriggled so that he could lie against John's chest, sighing slowly. "I'll learn."  
"Yes, you will." John kissed his head. He sighed softly. "You hear my heart now? How full it is? How strong, despite being broken?"  
"It sounds very determined," Sherlock responded softly, his eyes already closed.  
"Determined to stay with you. To beat for you until it can't beat anymore."  
"It's a very good heart," he yawned, settling down to drift to sleep. John smiled and squeezed him tight, closing his own tired eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five is coming soon with double smut to make up for this chapter's lack thereof.
> 
> ~~Taking requests as long as it's NOT dark cardiophilia (needles, knives, etc) or CPR/resus~~


	5. Good Morning, Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock helps John make his dream come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to include the case, the pursuit of the perp, the dinner date, and the mind-blowing, adrenaline-fueled sex after, BUT! unfortunately, I had some technical difficulties and so I don't have all of that. I apologize. If i ever get to fix the problem, I'll update this chapter, but until then, this is how it will remain. Enjoy!

John woke up the morning following their little tift and exchange of emotions feeling... needier than usual. He shifted closer to Sherlock and kissed and his face and neck. "Hmmm...you awake, Sher?" The dream was still fresh in his mind and with Sherlock being so warm and close, it was hard to resist temptation.  
"...hmm?" Sherlock was partially awake, shifting against John and opening his eyes part of the way. He'd never really slept in a bed with another person since he was small but he found he liked it. It was comfortable.  
"Are you awake yet, hmm?" John's hands roamed Sherlock's lean body slowly.  
"Mmh...getting there." He let out a slow breath and took a deeper one, opening his eyes all the way to look at John. A sleepy smile took his lips. "Good morning."  
John kissed that sleepy smile. "Morning. You know, I had a dream about you."  
"Was it a good dream?" He shifted against the feel of John's hands wandering across his body.  
"You're the detective. I'll let you figure it out." John shifted on top of him and kissed his neck again, briefly letting his lips linger on the carotid pulse. "Mm. Your heart says 'good morning' too."  
"Does it?" Stretching out under John, he smiled and lightly stroked his hips.  
"Mhmm. Have you figured out if it's a good dream and what it was about?"  
"It was a good dream..." He raised his leg just a bit, rubbing his leg against John's groin. "...and you were having sex with me?"  
"Mmph. Yep." John ground against his leg. "You wanted me to fuck you to the rhythm of your heart. So we hooked up a steth to a microphone and set up speakers so your heartbeat filled the room. And I gave you exactly what you asked for."  
"That sounds interesting...I wonder if you could last that long. It tends to beat fast when you're touching me. Like right now." He was already coming up with ways to set up a microphone, thinking.... "...if you get some medical tape, my phone and the bluetooth from my drawer, I'm sure I could set something up."  
"Wait-- you really want to do this?"   
"Why not? If nothing else, you could always see how high you could get my heart rate."  
"You maxed out at 190 the first time we had sex. I really don't want to push for SVT." "I'm perfectly healthy. I very much doubt we'd get to that point...it has beat faster than that when I'm really pushing on a hard run after a suspect."  
"Then you're some kind of miracle man."  
"Not especially John. Two-hundred ten is not a miraculous number."  
"That's a ten year old's maximum. Sort of miraculous for a man in his mid-30s."  
"Tell that to my heart. Like me, it is not average."  
"Clearly. So you really want to do the... thing?"  
"The 'thing'. Of course. Just get me the required items and I can set it up for you. ...Actually, I'd like my stethoscope as well."  
"Of course." John pecked his lips and got off the bed, adjusting his slightly-strained boxers. He disappeared to his room to dig up the medical tape.  
Sherlock, meanwhile, got his phone, the bluetooth and his stethoscope, knowing John would take a while to find the medical tape. Sitting on the bed, he carefully dismantled the earpiece of the bluetooth so that the microphone was exposed. He then dismantled his stethoscope, carefully putting the microphone into the tubing where one of the earpieces would normally go. By the time John came back, Sherlock had already sound tested it, grinning.  
John returned to Sherlock, closing the door behind him and spinning the roll of medical tape on his finger. "Appearently, I should orgasnize my supplies." He'd also retrieved the lube and condoms from Sherlock's coat pocket, setting them on the night stand.  
"Tape," Sherlock held out his hand for it, his eyes shining with his usual brilliance. "I think you'll very much like this, John."  
John handed over the tape. "You look rather proud of yourself."  
"Yes," he said eagerly, winding the tape around the end of the stethoscope to secure the microphone. He beckoned John onto the bed with him. "Choose your favorite spot and tape it down." He was holding up the chestpiece of the steth, his other hand on his phone. "We'll get better speakers later, but this is surprisingly loud if the hearing disability settings are on."  
"My favorite spot on you changes almost daily." The doctor decided to tape the diaphragm over his apex.  
"Ready?" He handed his phone to John. All he had to do was start the playback.  
John smiled when the playback started. "I'm in love with a genius."  
Loud and clear, even from the phone's speaker. Loud, clear and /fast/. "You already knew that, John. Now...what was this other part of your dream? Hm?"  
John smiled and pushed Sherlock onto his back, setting the phone nearby. "Listen to how excited you are." He peeled Sherlock's pajama pants off slowly, kissing his hips and down both legs.  
Sherlock nodded, not wanting his voice to be in the playback. What he hadn't told John yet was that it was being recorded. His breathing sped up in response to the kisses, his heart thumping harder.  
John positioned Sherlock's legs and picked up the lube, spreading it over his fingers. "Deep breath and relax," he told him, gently tracing his entrance. Sherlock took a few deep breaths, concentrating on relaxing rather than being excited. He nodded at John to tell him he was ready, his heart also slowing a bit in response. John looked at him curiously. "You're not talking...?"  
Sherlock pointed at the stethoscope taped to his chest. "...if you'd like me to." His voice rumbled over the phone's speaker as well.  
John laughed. "Okay. I get it. You don't have to talk, but don't you dare hold back on your other sounds."  
A smirk and a nod. Of course not. He probably wouldn't be able to hold those back at any rate. John eased his middle finger in, up to the first knuckle. Sherlock's breath stuttered and he swallowed, spreading his legs wider and tilting his pelvis up for easier access. He nodded again to encourage John. John gradually pressed his finger in further until it was buried. A small sound escaped him, magnified over the speaker. He was already starting to writhe to feel more. John smirked and eased in his ring finger carefully. Sherlock wanted to protest that he wasn't delicate but instead a frustrated moan escaped him. His cock was achingly hard against his belly and he needed /more/. John raised an eyebrow and went on, adding a third finger and beginning to pump them in and out. His breathing started to speed up again, his heart beating out a hard staccato.  
"I need you now," he ground out, trying to push himself onto John's fingers to get them in deeper.  
"Alright, alright." John slipped his fingers out. "Breathe deeply." He slipped off his boxers and worked the condom on. He did so, resisting the urge to touch himself. He had to wait, had to be patient... he was squirming by the time John had gotten the condom on. John spread a bit of extra lube onto the condom and positioned himself, lining up with Sherlock's hole. "Deep breath. You ready?"  
"Yes..." He had to grab onto the bedsheets to resist the urge to impale himself on John. A deep breath, his heart picking up pace in anticipation.  
"You're not helping your heart any. Close your eyes and take another breath." The ridiculous organ was thrashing, trying to betray the thinner man. Sherlock closed his eyes as instructed and took slower, deeper breaths to try and slow it. "There you go. Nice and calm." As Sherlock relaxed instead of anticipating, John pushed in with a groan. Sherlock mirrored the groan, still focused on slowing his heart since John was only getting started. When he was fully sheathed, Sherlock had to resist touching himself again and had to remind himself to keep breathing.  
"Okay?" John watched his lover, waiting to move.  
"Y...yes. Fine..."He flashed John a smile, lips parting again to take in deeper breaths. John kissed him and rolled his hips slowly to start, allowing them both to adjust. Sherlock grunted, tilting his pelvis again to give John a better angle and to try and find a comfortable one. John helped support his hips and thighs, settling when they found a comfortable position. "Nnh...right...right there."  
John began thrusting quickly, matching the speed and rhythm of Sherlock's heartbeat. "AH!" Sherlock cried out more loudly than he'd meant to, the sudden intensity jarring. His heart increased pace with his breathing and he clenched the bedsheets hard. John tried to control his own breathing to keep it steady as he kept pace with Sherlock's heart. Sherlock's toes curled and he lifted his legs until they were over John's shoulders. Right there. He cried out again, no longer able to keep himself quiet.  
Eventually, Sherlock's heart was just beating too fast for John to keep up with and so he simply thrust as fast and deep as he could, sweat glistening on his brow and chest. He was moving himself down with John's thrusts, taking him deeper and jerking, letting out noises of absolute abandon each time his prostate was hit. His heart was slamming in his chest. "Ah...God...John...!" Just a bit more. He just needed a bit more, close.   
John reached between them to help stroke Sherlock to completion. He was just as close. If not closer. A noise like a choked sob this time as he jerked and clenched around John, spurting over John's hand and his own stomach. "Nnhhh..." Heat spread across his face and it flushed, sweat rolling down. He'd topped out at around 190 again and it didn't seem to want to slow yet.  
It only took a few more thrusts and the sound of Sherlock's still-racing heart for John to tense and come with a choked moan. "Sherlock... gah!"  
For some reason it was much more intense this time. Sherlock needed to touch John, taking hold of the man's wrist with a shaking hand. He laid there, breathing hard and trembling as John reached his climax.  
Panting hard, John pulled out and shifted to lay close to his lover. He guided Sherlock's head so the younger man could listen to his racing heart. John's didn't seem keen on recovery either. Sherlock grappled onto John and pressed his ear against his chest, hot, harsh breath hitting the man's skin. He was still shaking.  
John stroked his hair affectionately, words escaping him for the time being. Words weren't needed. Sherlock held onto John like a lifeline, his heart only just starting to slow, stumbling over itself with a gallop and a few skips. John's heart beat exceptionally hard as it started to slow, sounding like it was exploding in his chest. LUB-dub. LUB-dub. He buried his nose in Sherlock's damp curls and focused on the detective's heart and his own breathing. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, John's heart slamming against his ear. He could feel his own heart squeezing while giving an audible skip. Every few beats, it did the same. It was an interesting sensation. Eventually, John's heart returned to normal and his breathing settled. He held Sherlock tightly and kissed his head.  
Holding John in return, the detective still trembled. His heart still threw the odd skip. He felt...he didn't know what he felt. Something. Something heavy and intense, something that filled him with the need to stay close to John, wrapped up in his arms.  
After a while, John looked down at him. "You okay?" Sherlock nodded against John's chest, giving his waist a squeeze. John reached for the steth head. "Should I take this off?"  
"If you like. It keeps doing that," he commented quietly just after his heart skipped again.  
"We made it beat too fast too suddenly. It's trying to recover. Does it feel okay otherwise?"  
"Doesn't hurt. Feels like...it's squeezing." He'd never really stopped to examine the experience before.  
John picked up the phone. "Here. Turn it off while I fix your stethoscope." He carefully removed the tape from Sherlock's chest. Sherlock took his phone and turned off the playback, saving the file. When he was finished, he laid there bonelessly. John worked dilligently on putting Sherlock's stethoscope. He then got up, discarded the condom, and retrieved his own stethoscope to keep tabs on Sherlock's recovering heart.  
Sherlock hadn't moved when John got back, still lying slightly on his side like he was in a daze and breathing slowly. John laid behind him, spooning him. He settled the earpieces in place and gently pressed the diaphragm to his chest. It was comfortable like this. Sherlock didn't feel like moving and John's solid warmth behind him was comforting. His heart beat normally for a solid minute before missing a beat and thudding harder after. That one had been enough to hitch his breathing though he gave no indication of pain.  
"You still okay, Sher?"  
"Mmhm," he replied drowsily, eyes half closed and staring out into nothing. His mind was quiet again.  
"Your heart is so beautiful. Do you know that?" A breathy laugh was Sherlock's reply. He stroked John's wrist, not reacting when it skipped the next time. John let Sherlock have his wrist and he kissed behind his ear. "Will you go out with me tonight?"  
"Of course." His fingers playing along John's radial artery like he might have been imagining it as a string on his violin.  
"I think... if it's okay with you... I'd like to be a bit more public. A serious relationship."  
Sherlock's heart gave a hard lurch just after John spoke. He chastised the organ with a swat at his own chest. "Well, we are in one of those...I don't see a problem with it."  
"How serious are you willing to make it?"  
"I don't understand."  
"How serious are you willing to let this relationship get?"  
Sherlock's face screwed up in confusion. "What do you mean? ...Are there different levels of seriousness?"  
"Well, Mary and I were about as serious as two people can get."  
"Oh." His heart didn't speed up so the idea must not have frightened him. "Well, I'm not wearing a dress."  
John chuckled. "I'm not sure a dress would suit you."  
"As serious as you would like to be, John. As long as I'm allowed to be with you, I don't care who knows and to what capacity. A definition doesn't matter to me. You do." "Definition, maybe not. But commitment. Labels. They're different things that scare people."  
"I've already decided to commit to you."  
"Hm. Okay."  
Sherlock laughed again. "You sound a bit surprised. Were you expecting me to react badly?"  
"I never know what to expect from Sherlock Holmes."  
"Well, there you are. When I said I loved you, I meant it. Wholly. That isn't going to change just because you want people to know or want to go through an outdated tradition to make it official. If it's what you want to do, it's what I want as well."  
"We'll see what time brings us, okay?" John kissed his shoulder. "By the way, that was easily the best orgasm I've ever had, thank you."  
"I think so as well. That was...very different from the first time."  
"Because we focused on audio instead of visual."  
"Not just that." He ran his fingertips lightly across John's wrist. "It was...very intense." "Not sure how to explain it, then."  
"It was a completely different experience. It wasn't just...sex for the sake of it. There was another dimension to it." He yawned and his heart skipped once more. The recovering beat was hard enough to take his breath again.   
"I don't ever have sex with you just for the sake of it, Sherlock. I do it because I love you."  
"I know that. It's just difficult to explain with words." That was a bit frustrating for him but most emotional responses were.  
"Yeah. It is. We'll just leave it classified as intense."  
"Very. I wasn't staying quiet for the sake of the microphone earlier, just after. I just...couldn't speak."  
John smiled. "I rendered Sherlock Holmes speechless, " he bragged.  
"Yes, you did." He settled, putting his hand over John's and closing his eyes. Not quite sleeping, just dozing. John just laid there, content to listen to his lover's heartbeat. He felt like the luckiest man alive, getting to listen to the symphony in Sherlock's chest for the rest of their lives. Sherlock's heart beat slow and soft now, the rhythm having evened out. He really could have gone back to sleep like that with John curled around him.  
After a while, John set the steth aside and got up, slipping away to clean up in the shower. While John cleaned himself up, Sherlock lay there perfectly still and in exactly the same position, asleep again. When John returned, wrapped in only a towel, he sat on the edge of the bed, simply watching his lover. Admiring him.  
Sherlock's phone buzzed some minutes later and he woke with a sharp inhalation. He groped for his phone and squinted at the screen when he unlocked it. "Case," he grunted, letting his arm flop back down onto the bed.  
"Well. Finally, hmm?" John smiled. "I was just thinking, by the way, that we should record your heart sometime. Something for me to listen to while I'm doing papers at work " "Hmm...another bluetooth microphone and more tape should do the trick. Any requests?" He was thinking really hard about getting out of that bed. He was. With a groan, he rolled over and off from the bed, moving stiffly to the bathroom to clean himself up. The door was open so he could still listen to John.  
John got himself dressed. "Well, with bluetooth, I could just call you from work and listen to your heart live."  
"Very true." Water ran. Quick shower and then he was out to shave. "I'd make you guess what I was doing."  
"Sounds like a game."  
"That it does. I like games." He popped out when he was finished, drying his face with a towel and going to his underwear drawer. "Do you like the idea?"  
John pulled him in for a kiss. "I love it."  
Sherlock smiled and kissed John back. "I thought you might." Another quick kiss and he was getting dressed, putting on one of his ridiculously well tailored suits. John stared openly, happily admiring his partner. "Come along, then." He stroked the pad of his finger along the underside of John's chin. "We've got a crime scene to see, a murder to solve."  
John smiled like a love-drunk fool. "Lead the way, detective."


	6. Twisited Sinister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like everything else, cardiophilia has a light side and a dark side. When John's and Sherlock's secret is discovered, their innocent interest is twisted into something darker.

The month going forward had been fun, if not exhausting. Case after case came in, Lestrade himself showing signs of sleep deprivation during each investigation. None of the murders seemed linked but Sherlock saw past that. Even still, he didn't go further into the connections, solving each one as they came. Bits of post came in for him. Texts. Cryptograms in the papers and comments on his website or on John's blog. Ignored. He glanced at the texts and put his mobile away, favoring John with a smile and saying it wasn't important when questioned about them.   
With so many cases in such a short span of time, Sherlock was overstimulated and left the crime scene with John after solving their most recent murder, seeking out a quiet place. Late evening. Kensington Gardens wasn't far and he knew no one would be there. Taking John's hand, he steered them down the street.  
John sighed as they walked together. He was surprised his legs were continuing to allow him to walk. "Oh, what a month we've had. Must be something in the air," he joked. "Everyone just murdering each other out of nowhere. At least we'll have a bit of quiet tonight, hmm? Maybe things will settle down now. Everyone's paying attention to you again. Sort of seems like a cautionary sign to future murderers that there's no point... they'll get caught."  
"Mm." Sherlock gave John's hand a squeeze. Not having time to be bored was good, but even the great Sherlock Holmes would start to wear down after enough time. Nonstop bouts of no sleep, no food, running off from crime scenes, air and coffee. "I don't care about their attention..." Only John's. He'd been pointedly ignoring the other attention he was getting.  
"You never have," John hummed fondly. His fingers found Sherlock's radial pulse as they often did and the doctor inhaled the crisp evening air as they entered the gardens. Legally, they weren't supposed to be there after hours, but they could always get away with it. It wasn't a huge deal.  
They'd become comfortable in their relationship which was also good. Sherlock automatically flexed his wrist to the side to give John better access to the thumpy pulse just under his fingers. It was starting to calm a bit once they started walking through, just him and John. There was no pressure to be a brilliant detective here. "No. I suppose I haven't."  
They were silent for a while, just enjoying each other's company and the calm of the night. John spoke again after several minutes. "D'you think we should go somewhere? Even just for a weekend? Have a brief holiday... Relax..."  
Sherlock scoffed at the idea, huffing out a laugh. "A holiday? Are you tiring out, John?" He turned his head and leaned down just enough to press a kiss to John's temple.  
"I'm not as young as you, Sherlock. It's been a helluva month. I'm not completely tiring out, but a little break would be nice. Don't you think so? It doesn't have to be somewhere /fun/... it could just be somewhere that interests you."  
"I'll consider it." He smiled again and breathed out the night air slowly.  
John paused. He could swear he heard something. Looking around, he saw nothing. Must have been a bird...  
Sherlock's attention was briefly taken by the noise as well and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps an animal...but that was a very distinct clicking noise. Before he could work out what it had been fully, something small that felt like an insect sting hit his neck. Letting out a slight grunt with no other cues as to what had happened, Sherlock wavered and his knees buckled.  
When John realized something had happened, he turned to check on Sherlock, but as soon as he was distracted, he was hit too. He cursed at the stinging pain and gradually sank to his knees. "Sh.. Sherlock..." But darkness overtook him before he could reach out to his lover.  
Somehow, Sherlock managed to keep his senses for longer than John. Long enough to hear several sets of footsteps and the sound of a car, probably a van by the sound of the engine. By the time he saw a pair of shoes and felt hands dragging him away from John, he'd gone down into unconsciousness as well.  
As the blackness faded and John began to come back to his senses, he noticed three things. First, that there was a sort of rhythmic, dual beeping coming from somewhere. Second, that he was cold and his bare back was pressed against a metal something. And thirdly, that he was strapped onto said metal object. He shifted slightly and quickly found that he couldn't move his arms. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and he took in the scene around him, though he couldn't see much. He was facing the ceiling at the moment. So he was lying on a table then. There seemed to be curtains surrounding the room with unspeakably gory photos of human hearts taped around. Among those, diagrams detailing cross-sections of arteries, veins, and the heart itself as well as bloodflow and other things. What the hell was this?  
Sherlock carefully didn't move even as he returned to consciousness. He knew he was lying flat and he knew there was at least one other person in the room because he could hear them breathing. The rhythmic beeping, he knew, was from two heart monitors. Not the hospital. Hospitals didn't strap patients down to cold metal tables. When he risked opening his eyes, they were drawn to the diagrams and gory photos. His eyes shut again and the heart monitor recording his vitals started to beep with a higher frequency. He knew why this was happening.  
John heard some of the beeping increase. Someone else was there. Someone he hoped was Sherlock. He tried to lift his head, but couldn't much see past his own feet. "Sherlock? God, I hope that's you."  
Deep breaths to slow his heart. Sherlock was already giving himself away. "I'm here, John," he said after a moment, swallowing. Whatever was happening, whatever was in store for them, he dreaded the fact that John was going to be subjected to it as well. "...are you all right?"  
Oh, thank the gods... John swallowed hard. "Yeah, I think so. Bit uncomfortable, cold, and confused, but... I'm not hurt. Where are we? What the hell is going on?"  
"I'm not sure yet." Another deep breath. His mind convinced his body that he was not afraid. "I'm sure it'll be explained to us before too long...but it's obvious that someone has noticed our hobby."  
Before John could even groan in humiliation and despair, a familiar voice filtered through the curtains. "It's hard not to notice something you make so /painfully/ obvious. And... to answer your question, Johnny Boy, you're in your own personal nightmare. I do love taking things people enjoy and ruining it for them. However, I think Curly Sherly will enjoy what I have planned for the two of you. It is, after all, an experiment." There was a bit of shifting and both John and Sherlock's tables began to tip into a vertical position. When they were both upright, Moriarty was stood between them wearing a disgustingly pleased grin.  
Sherlock sighed, feigning annoyance. He had to work to keep his heart rate down so as not to give away the fear that touched him. He made brief eye contact with John across the room from him and then looked over Jim. "Are you always this jealous for my attention?"  
"Jealous? Little me? Nooo..." Jim stepped closer to Sherlock. "But I've been trying to play with you for a month. And you've been ignoring me." He feigned a pout and turned to John. "For your pet, it seems." He grinned wickedly and approached the doctor. "You've been so wrapped up in Johnny here that you seem to have forgotten alllll about me. You didn't even thank me for the string of murders I left for you, Sherly." He stopped at John's side and turned to Sherlock  
Jim could do any number of horrible things to John and there was nothing he could do to stop him with how thick the restraints were. He couldn't control how his heart rate went up. "Yes, thank you for the murders. All of them were very interesting. The texts...less so."  
John glanced at Jim- who was hideously close- and could see that he was wearing a crimson-coloured shirt under his black suit, and his necktie was patterned with hearts. Anatomically correct human hearts. He was mocking them. A mixture of fear and anger caused John's heart rate to increase just as Sherlock's had. There was nothing the doctor and detective could do but watch whatever Moriarty did to them.  
Jim looked between them and smirked. "The experiment is already off to a splendid start. Aren't you interested, Sherlock? After all, you're the one who purchased all the equipment for your little... fetish. Daddy's just here, helping you two along." He moved to John's opposite side and pushed a button on a little black box above the heart monitor. The room was filled with the sound of John's heart beat.  
Knowing well enough how Jim operated, he was trying to calculate a way to get him away from John. Jim knew very well that John was Sherlock's weakness. Usually the sound of John's heartbeat would be exciting to him, but seeing the room around them, seeing what Jim was wearing... Sherlock leaned forward as much as he could in his restraints. He was truly getting worried. "What game are you really trying to play this time?"  
Jim crossed over to Sherlock and pressed the same button on an identical black box. "I'm just playing to your interests, my little Curly Sherly. Since I don't seem to be on your list of interests anymore, I had to get you to notice me again /somehow/. I started feeling rather like a white crayon. And you no longer prefer black paper."  
The setup would have been interesting in a better setting. Sherlock could appreciate it even if he knew the situation was bad. He'd have to invest in getting an ECG with such capabilities... if Jim let them out of there alive, that was. "What do you really want?" Sherlock let an easy smile mask his features. "...Oh, I see. You're /bored/. Tired of taking over the world already?"  
"I still am taking over the world, darling." Jim stroked Sherlock's cheek with the back of his index finger. "You're one of the morons that lives in this world. I have to take you over, too." He winked and walked away again, disappearing between, curtains, but he could still be heard. "The human heart really is fascinating, isn't it? Nonstop beating your whole life, until /one day/ it just... stops. It decides that it's done and then there's only silence. And death. So many factors can alter the speed and rhythm of the heart rate. All of them are chemically induced, of course. Oxytocin, adrenaline, endorphins... And of course there are ways to manually cause such alterations. The two of you have explored the effects of pleasure, stress, physical activity, and rest on the heart, but did either of you consider the effects of..." He stepped back into the room with a small silver cart. A few things laid in a tray on the cart. "Fear?"  
Sherlock didn't need to ask what Jim planned to do with them after seeing the cart. Steady breathing was his only savior from giving away how frightened he was becoming of the situation. This wasn't a game meant to distract both of them. This was Jim punishing him for ignoring his attempts to reach out. Time to try and stall. "So it seems you've developed an interest as well if you've gone so far to set all of this up."  
Jim pretended to look thoughtful. "Mmmmm... No. No interest that I didn't already have. And that interest is burning you while making your pet suffer."  
"You really didn't have to go to all of this trouble just for me." He rolled his wrists in the restraints, testing them. Normally, he could dislocate his thumbs to get out, but these were too tight to the skin.  
"Oh, but aren't you worth it?" Jim gave him a sickly-sweet grin. "Besides, this is a treat for me, too. I get to bask entirely in your fear." He looked down at the items on the tray, tracing his fingers over the instruments. "Hmm... but what to do to you first...?"  
"Hardly worth it." He was determinedly not looking over at John, trying to keep Jim's focus. The less John had to suffer for this, the better. He could keep tabs on John's condition with both the sound of his heartbeat and the blips of the monitor besides. "...well, you could always let me down from here. I can't be that interesting a specimen."  
Jim laughed. "Yes, let me just set you free. There's no game if there's no Player Two." He looked over at John. "And we're lucky enough to have a Player Three." He looked at Sherlock. "What do you think, Sherly? The scalpel? Or the XACTO knife? Choose wisely."  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, anger starting to take over. Not even deep breathing could help him from giving it away. "Don't."  
"Oh, but that's not how this game works. Choose." Sherlock knew if he didn't play, Jim would somehow force his hand.  
"Scalpel."  
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? The surgical instrument instead of the artist tool. Well, if you insist." He picked up the scalpel and turned to John. "Sorry Johnny Boy. I guess he doesn't love you after all."  
"Wait." Sherlock pulled at his restraints again, his heart rate rising. He wasn't even trying to hide it now, whether he was playing into Jim's game or not. "It isn't John you want. There's no need to involve him."  
"Oh, there's a definite need. After all, he's the one you've been ignoring me for."  
"I don't suppose there's anything I could do to change your mind..."  
"My mind has already been made up, darling." Jim approached John slowly. "You're looking well. Too bad that's about to end. It's Sherlock's fault, you know. He ignored me and then he's the one who chose the more deadly weapon. Of course, you know that. Scalpels are designed to cut /very/ deeply. Oh well. Say good night, sweet Prince."   
"Stop!" Sherlock was struggling in earnest now, pulling and jerking his arms but finding that the restraints had no give. If it was fear Jim wanted, it was fear he was going to get. Real fear, no ability to mask it, heart racing. "...please."  
"I suppose you want last words with your little boyfriend?" Jim huffed and rolled his eyes, stepping to the side just slightly. "Make it fast. I'm not a patient man."  
"You can do anything you want with me. Anything at all. Just leave him alone." Sherlock let his head drop for a moment before looking back up at John. He doubted Moriarty would listen to his pleas. "I am sorry. I love you, you know this."  
John swallowed hard. "I know, Sherlock. It's not your fault. I love you, too. More than anything. No matter what."  
Jim rolled his eyes. "BOOOOOR-RING! ...and disgusting. Honestly, how do you two get on being so dull and weak? Because that's what love is. A weakness." He brought the blade of the scalpel to John's chest. "Like a romance novel isn't it? Staring into your lover's eyes during your final moments?"  
After a few moments more, Sherlock couldn't stand to watch, clenching his jaw and balling his hands into fists. If he thought any sort of threat would work, he'd make one. It was unlikely he'd make it out of this room alive if Jim intended to kill John. "Please don't."  
"I'm not listening," Jim singsonged. He curved the blade around in half of a heart shape right of center on John's chest. Blood beaded at the surface and John clenched his jaw, his heart rate climbing. It wasn't as deep as it was meant to be. Jim knew how to control that and it was just another scare tactic.   
Sherlock resolved himself to taking deeper breaths. If Jim had wanted to kill John immediately, he would have. This was all meant to frighten them... and it was frightening. He could hear John's heart pound with fear as well as his own. He found that his palms were sweating. His nerve was rattled.  
Jim completed the other half of the heart as blood trickled slowly down John's chest. "Mm. Pretty as a picture. A masterpiece."  
Finally, Sherlock looked up to see what Jim had done. His jaw clenched again at the sight of the bloody pattern in John's skin. At least he'd chosen the tool with the thinnest blade. Sharp, but less chance of scarring.  
John trembled and gave Sherlock a look that was half pleading, half apologetic. This was awful and he wished he'd wake up to find it all /was/ a nightmare. Seeing the look in John's eyes made Sherlock steel himself, narrowing his eyes again and sending John a silent command to stay strong. Jim was going to play with them for a long while, so it seemed.  
Jim took the scalpel and moved back over in front of Sherlock. "I hope you didn't think I'd forgotten about you, Locket. After all, you should match your would-be husband, shouldn't you?"  
"Getting creative with the pet names, now, aren't you," Sherlock ground out, giving Jim a glare that would have made a lesser man wilt.  
"The old ones were getting tired. Besides, a 'locket' is something important that you keep close to your heart." Jim smirked. "Now, matching hearts for the husbands..." He lifted the surgical instrument and traced a heart-shape onto Sherlock's chest. "Or did you not know about that bit?"  
Sherlock grit his teeth but the pain was not so great that he couldn't bear it. His skin felt warmer where the blood slowly trailed down. Curiosity entered his eyes when Jim asked him that question. A quick glance to John and then back to Jim. His heart fluttered briefly but he breathed slowly to calm it.  
John mentally begged Jim not to say it, but of course that did nothing. Jim dropped the scalpel onto the metal tray with a loud clang. "Oh. So you don't know." Jim giggled. "Maybe you're not the world's greatest detective after all. You see, Johnny Boy here has been carrying an engagement ring in his pocket for the past week, waiting for the 'right time'. Might have even asked in the garden tonight had I not rained on your parade."  
Sherlock flinched at the noise. He looked up at John again, a corner of his lips twitching briefly. Perhaps another day when their lives weren't in immediate danger...if they lived to see another day. "I'm sure you're very happy for us."  
John hung his head and closed his eyes. He either wanted this to be over or to die. Either way...  
Jim rolled his eyes. "Oh, just /ecstatic/."  
"I'm sure." Sherlock tried to stretch himself to find a more comfortable position to be in. No such luck. His heart was starting to settle into a slower, steadier rhythm as he found some calm. His eyes went to the cart to see what else Jim had brought out with him so that he would know what to expect. "I suppose that means you won't RSVP."  
"You're actually going to /marry/ this moron? Oh, Sherly Sherly Sherly... you're stupider and weaker than I thought! Pathetic."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've become infected, I know. It must be horrible for you to witness."  
"I can't say I'm not... disappointed. With you being stupid and all. There's no one to challenge me." Jim feigned a yawn. "Ah, well. Let's move on, shall we?"  
"I've learned a lot, actually. It's brought a new perspective." He couldn't just let Jim call him stupid, could he? "Just because I haven't wanted to challenge you doesn't mean I can't." When Jim chose to move on, Sherlock tensed again. He hated not being in control of the room...of the situation.  
John finally spoke, though his voice was small and timid. "Sherlock...? Would you really have accepted?"  
"Not really a good time to be asking that question, but I believe you know the answer." Sherlock's smile was tense but he was trying to be reassuring.  
"I know. I know, but if we're going to die here, I just... wanted to be sure..."  
"Of course, John... of course." The smile faded into a frown as he watched Jim. Jim who might steal their future away... John gave a shuddering sob and lowered his head again. He wasn't afraid of dying. He'd come close to death several times before. He was afraid of losing Sherlock again. Maybe now was the time to start hoping for an afterlife. Some sort of eternal paradise.  
Meanwhile, Jim ignored their bittersweet exchange as he perused his tools. "Eenie... meenie... minie... drugs!" He picked up a syringe filled with some sort of chemical that wasn't immediately recognizable.   
The stress of seeing John like that combined with Jim coming to a startling conclusion as to what to next subject them to had the detective all but grinding his teeth. Wary, he watched and breathed evenly. Another glance to John, then back to Jim. His hands were clenching and unclenching. Jim haphazardly twirled the syringe between his fingers.  
"This is going to be fun, because you're quite familiar with needles, aren't you, Locket?"  
Sherlock breathed out slowly but swallowed nervously. Any number of things could be inside of that syringe. "Unfortunately."  
"And, if my memory is correct, you're rather a fan of speedballs, aren't you?" Sherlock's expression changed to reflect dread and his heart rate picked up without his consent. If Moriarty had a speedball in that syringe, it was very likely he wouldn't be leaving alive. "I've been sober." Usually a carefully measured dose of cocaine or morphine. Never a true speedball.  
John snapped to attention too, his own heart racing desperately. If they did leave alive, he'd have to help Sherlock get clean again.  
Jim smirked. "Welcome to relapse, Sherly dear." He found the thickest vein near Sherlock's elbow and eased the needle in before depressing the plunger. Just a bit, though. Only some at a time. The needle entered where there had been injections before, very light scars there and this one would make one more.  
"Y...you really shouldn't." The possibilities made Sherlock's mind race. He hadn't eaten recently, had subsisted on caffeine for the past two days... his heart rate increased again with the introduction of the drug, the sound of his heartbeat louder and heavier. "Pointless telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I know I shouldn't. But I am because I want to." Jim waited a moment or two before injecting a bit more.   
It didn't feel like a usual high which had Sherlock suspiscious. He glanced down at the syringe, then at Jim, then at the floor. Sweat was starting to bead across his forehead and his breathing was becoming heavier. His heart beat even faster and it was past the point of comfort. The heavy feeling of his heart slamming against his ribs made him shift, fidgeting uncomfortably.  
"You know what the funny part is, Sherly?" Jim snickered and injected more. "I lied. I lied! It's not a speedball, doofus! It's dobutamine. Hospitals use it for chemical stress tests. Isn't that funny? Oopsie! Jim lied again!" He chuckled  
"Hilarious," Sherlock grunted. His heart rate was already at 160 and steadily climbing as more of the drug was introduced, sweat rolling down his face. His heart was visibly surging against his skin, and even his chest was starting to gleam with sweat.  
"I thought so." Jim grinned broadly and continued to despress the plunger again, injecting the final quarter of the dobutamine. Slowly, he pulled the needle out and tossed the syringe back on the tray. He crossed over to John. and held the doctor's head in place. "Isn't this so much /fun/ John? Look at Sherlock. Helpless. Nothing you can do. Slipping into tachycardia. He could even have a heart attack..."  
Across from John, Sherlock was trembling involuntarily, his face and chest flushed from the drug. It felt much too warm now compared to how chilly it had been. His heart was banging like a lead fist against his chest wall, the left side of his chest pulsing with how hard it was beating. He glanced across to John and Moriarty briefly, then let his head hang, panting. The ECG showed a rate of 203, the sound of his heart booming through the room.  
If the situation had been completely different, the sight of Sherlock's visible heart beat would have excited John, but in the moment it simply terrified him. He squirmed and closed his eyes, but there was no drowning out the sound of Sherlock's distressed heart.   
"He could die like that, you know," Jim hummed to the doctor. "That heart that belongs to you... the heart you love so much could suddenly just stop. And if it doesn't today, it could happen any other day without warning. So what's the point of loving him? He'll only die. And so will you."  
The pain came on gradually, but Shelock knew there would be pain. His heart was taxed and it was his body's way of warning him. Like it was agreeing with Jim, his heart gave a hard squeeze and skipped, going into a frenzy and skipping again. He didn't try to look up at them, only concentrating on breathing and trying to stay calm. 208 was the flashing number on the ECG, the electronic readout showing the increasing number of ectopic heatbeats.  
John prayed to any god he could think of from any and every religion he'd ever heard of. Begged them to keep Sherlock safe.  
Like a miracle, Jim stepped away from John. "You're lucky I'm feeling so generous today." He picked up a second syringe and approached Sherlock. "Look at me, Sherlock. I want you to pay attention to wait I'm saying to you."  
Sherlock looked up, his eyes going from Jim's to the syringe in his hand. He was panting the way he had when he was running with John, swallowing at intervals and cringing when pain hit him. Cringing and shaking when his heart lurched, missing beats before hammering on relentlessly. He looked back up at Jim, glaring.  
"I'm always watching you. Both of you. Don't forget that. If you ignore me ever again, it will be /much/ worse for you. D'you understand me? This is only a small fraction of what I can do to you and your pet. Like I said: I'm /constantly/ watching."  
Sherlock understood the generosity Jim was displaying and nodded, not able to produce words. He definitely understood.  
Jim jabbed him with the second needle and depressed the plunger immediately. "A mild sedative. It'll slow your heartrate and calm your nerves. Then, Sebastian will be in to clean you both up and send you home to lick your wounds."  
His heart continued to slam painfully against his ribs for several seconds as the sedative got into his system. He gasped when his heart gave a great lurch, pounding and skipping in turns for several more seconds. 190. 184. Gradually, his heart rate was coming down. The warring chemicals caused the arrhythmia... at least it was slowing. 170. 160. It continued to slow.  
"Next time, come when I call for you," Jim growled before walking away. He paused and slipped off his necktie, tying it tightly to one of John's belt loops. "Think of it as a gift. A little momento." He grinned and disappeared behind the curtains with a flourish.  
Sherlock hung there in his restraints, still breathing hard. The pain was ebbing and it was a relief to feel his heart slowing down finally. A bit fuzzy but still conscious, he looked up at John to make sure he was all right.  
A man slipped in behind Sherlock and poked him in the neck with another tranquilizer. Another man did the same to John so they'd both be unconscious. Their location couldn't be known. A different man- likely Sebastian- cleaned them up, forced their shirts on, disconnected them from the various wires, and dragged them out to a car.

It was like waking from a nightmare when Sherlock finally did surface to find consciousness. It felt like wading through a thick soup to get out of his own head and back to the waking world where he could control his limbs. It took him three tries to come back fully, eyes blinking open. He was staring at his own bedroom ceiling, exhausted and confused.  
John woke slowly on the couch, feeling like he'd just woken up from the world's worst nightmare. His bleary eyes searched the room. A fire had been lit in the fireplace, his chest hurt, and there was no sign of Sherlock. Panicked, he sat bolt up right, but his head reeled. Bad idea. "Sh... Sher-Sherlock?"  
Sherlock thought he heard someone calling for him but he could just barely turn himself over onto his side just in case vertigo led to him having to vomit. So many different drugs in his system and he couldn't quite grasp the hows and whys of the situation yet. There was a pause until panic hit him as well. John! John must have been out there. Struggling through the sea of blankets on his bed, Sherlock thumped soundly onto the floor, confused as to how he'd gotten there.  
John staggered to his feet, concerned at the sound of a body hitting the floor. He stumbled his way into the bedroom and dropped- ungracefully- to his knees beside Sherlock. "Sher? You... you okay?"  
"Nnh..." What a pair they were. Sherlock wiped away traces of drool from his face rather like a child and looked up at John like he'd never seen him before. Oh! Right. He was scared about John being hurt. Struggling up and then back down to the floor, he reached out to touch John, taking his arm and squeezing.  
John just let himself flop down onto the floor beside him, cuddling close. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and squeezed tightly as a sob escaped him.  
"...all right?" Sherlock demanded, slurring the words. His limbs were still uncoordinated but he tried to hold John closer to himself. "...okay?"  
John shook his head and just allowed himself to openly weep for the first time since Sherlock had come back. He'd almost lost him again. They'd almost lost each other. Even when faced with his own death in the army, John had never been more frightened.  
"John..." All he could think to do was to hold him and so that's what he did. "It's...it's fine...you're safe...here with me."  
"No... no, I don't care that I'm safe... I almost lost you. Again. Forever..." He trembled hard and clutched Sherlock's shirt as he sobbed. "Forever... is too long... without you..."  
With all the willpower Sherlock possessed, he tried to sober himself long enough to do something that might actually help. "...I'm all right. I'm fine..." He pressed his face into the top of John's head and just held him there on the floor. "...s'all right, John...we're safe now. It's over."  
"It'll ne- never be over... You heard him. He's watching. The nightmare won't end... until he's... he's dead."  
"John...John!" Sherlock sighed and gave John a squeeze. His head was pounding and they were both lucky that he could make sense of the situation. "John...calm down. I'll...I'll think of something."  
John quivered until he finally stopped crying. His breath hitched and he hiccuped a few times. "I need you, Sherlock."  
Kissing the top of John's head, Sherlock started to idly stroke his back. "I know. I need you...too. It's all right now. I'm here..."  
"I love you... I'm sorry that happened."  
"I love you, John. It's not your fault. None of it...it's...not your fault." Sherlock let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. John pressed himself as close as possible, just needing to feel Sherlock's full existence. Sherlock let him stay like that, keeping his eyes closed. He could almost have drifted off again if not for the stinging pain across his chest from the scalpel, the headache and the fact that they were on the hard floor. "...wanna...bed? ...the bed..." His thoughts were scattering again.  
"I'm not sure that I can stand up again. It was difficult just coming in here."  
Good point. Sherlock wasn't sure that he could either. Grunting with effort, he reached to grab the corner of the duvet off from his bed and pulled it down to them. That was the extent of the strength he had left. "...you're...you're all right, though?"  
"Only if you're all right..."  
"Just tired...very tired..."  
"Is your heart okay? Are you in pain?"  
"Mmh...will be fine." Pain was there but he couldn't tell if it was the scalpel carving combined with his headache or if it was actual angina. Lucidity was slow to return fully.  
"Sherlock, I love you. I can't stress that enough."  
"I know...I know that. I love you too," he murmured, wrapping his arms around John again. "I'm right here...it's...it's fine. Not going anywhere."  
John held Sherlock tightly and closed his eyes, trying to pretend his chest didn't hurt and that he wasn't completely traumatised.  
The floor wasn't the most comfortable place but if John couldn't move and wanted to stay wrapped up with him, he would stay there. Holding John equally tightly, he started to drift off again. They needed the drugs to wear off.  
If John dwelled on it, he'd know he was uncomfortable there on the floor but that was the last of his worries. His hand slid over Sherlock's chest to rest over his heart, needing the reassurance that it was still pumping and back to its normal rhythm. Gradually, he fell asleep.


	7. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and- a very traumatised- John try to recover from their encounter with Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a brief chapter just to help segue between Twisted Sinister and Because You're Mine. Enjoy!  
> Warning: feels ahead

When Sherlock woke up again, he felt more aware and in control of his own muscles and limbs. Still, his head and chest both ached. It took him a moment to understand why he and John were on the floor together with a duvet half over them, but he quickly made the connection. To let John lie or to wake him...? Even in sleep, John looked distressed. He tossed and turned a bit, obviously haunted by something in his dreams.  
Clearing his throat, Sherlock tried to speak. "...John." Much better than the last attempt. "John, it's all right...it's Sherlock. I'm here with you. ...You should wake up now." He knew it wasn't a good idea to try and restrain John so he only stroked his hand through the man's hair. "John...wake up, now. It's all right. We're both safe."  
John stirred a bit, but didn't wake quite yet. In his dreams, he heard Sherlock calling to him, but couldn't quite reach his partner. He ran ahead until he suddenly dropped into a void. The doctor jolted awake suddenly, his heart pounding forcefully. He blinked and looked at Sherlock.  
Sherlock was looking over John now, concerned. His eyes ticked back and forth between John's. "Are you all right? John...?" The hand that touched John's chest was shaking as he felt John's heart pound. "It's all right...we're home now. We're at 221B. We're safe."  
John sat up slowly, looking at Sherlock the whole time. He reached out gently and cupped Sherlock's face, looking worried. Thumbs stroked over sharp cheekbones before John pulled Sherlock into his chest, holding him protectively. Rather than fighting it, Sherlock curled himself up against John's chest, able to clearly hear how frightened he was. He had an idea what John might have been dreaming about and tried to comfort him with an arm around him, the other one resting on John's chest. "...It's all over now."  
John hushed him. "Let's... not talk about it."  
"...all right." Sherlock was actually a bit relieved, not really sure his attempts at trying to comfort John had been comforting at all. John buried his nose in Sherlock's hair, taking comfort in the familiar scent. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop being afraid again.  
After a while of lying like that, Sherlock slowly pulled himself away, sitting up and wincing. Rolling his shoulders produced a few pops. "...bed? Or...did you want to try getting up?"  
"I don't know..." John grabbed onto the bed and used it to help lift himself to his feet. "Oh,, everything hurts. What time is it?"  
"Um..." Sherlock looked towards the window. "...Bit before noon." Following John, he slowly lifted himself up and wavered a bit, dizzy.  
"We slept through the night?" Gently, John straightened himself and stretched. "Tea? Or coffee?"  
Sherlock assessed himself for a moment and decided to sit down on the bed. A shooting pain reminded him of the night before and he shook his head. "...neither. Water?" Better to let himself recover before subjecting his body to caffeine again.  
"You're right. That's a much better idea. I can't think yet..." John limped out to the kitchen- it seemed his leg was bothering him again, for the first time in years. He limped back with two glasses of water and suddenly noticed the necktie hanging from his belt loop. He set the glasses on the nightstand roughly and stormed out again, digging up scissors in the kitchen. He chopped through the knot and threw the tie in the embers of the fireplace  
The limp had not escaped Sherlock's notice, nor had the tie. Concerning. By the time John had thrown the tie into the fireplace, Sherlock had shuffled out of his room and was headed towards the sofa. He was still a bit weak and dizzy but made it to the sofa. "...would rather be out here," he murmured.  
John nodded and retrieved their glasses of water, handing Sherlock his before sinking into his arm chair and sipping slowly. Sherlock rubbed his temples and kept glancing over at John like he was afraid he might vanish or that he would read something differently from him. Any sign of pain. Any sign of fear. Anything would be noted, fanning the fires of his anger. John's left hand was perfectly still. It only tremored when there was a lack of stress and danger in his life and this had been far more than enough. He stared at the cracks between the floorboards blankly.  
Eventually satisfied, Sherlock drank some of his water and laid down on the sofa. This was something that would take time, he knew.  
John finished his water and went over to Sherlock on the sofa. "Could I... lie down with you?"  
Sherlock nodded and made room for John, shifting. "It's fine."  
John squeezed onto the soda with Sherlock. "Will... everything... ever be all right again?"  
Sherlock immediately wrapped an arm around John, anger flaring again when John asked that question. He tried to calm himself for John's sake. "...yes. Everything is fine as long as you're here and safe, John."  
"It doesn't feel alright, Sher. It feels... dark. Empty."  
"Then I'll make it all right." He stroked a hand through John's hair. "...but I need you with me."  
"I could never leave you. I need you too much. I... I almost lost you again."  
"You didn't. He didn't intend to kill either of us."  
"But I thought he would..."  
"I'm still here. I'm still alive. He didn't kill me." He understood that John was traumatized. The worst part of that understanding was that he had no idea how to help.  
"And I'm so grateful you are alive, but I can't erase... that image... that voice..."  
"What can I do to help you erase it? Hm?" He sighed into John's hair, wanting him closer. "Anything you need."  
"You can't, Sherlock. It's there. Like an open wound..."  
"I won't let it happen again."  
"I know you won't."  
"...just lie here with me, then. As long as you need."  
"Might need an eternity..."  
"You're made of sterner stuff than that, John..."  
"I'm-- I feel... broken..."  
Sherlock sighed out at that statement, just pulling John closer and trying to will strength into him. He was going to find Moriarty and rip him apart for this.  
I... I should have offered to let him kill me. Maybe then he wouldn't have hurt you."  
"Stop it."  
"I could have kept him from shooting you up with drugs. I could have kept him from cutting into you, too, but I didn't because I was too afraid..."  
"John, stop it."  
John took a shuddering breath and fell quiet.  
"Nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him. He certainly didn't stop when I protested against him cutting you."  
John tried to move closer, but he was about as close as he could get.  
"You know it isn't your fault. It's ridiculous of you to think so."  
"Then why do I feel guilty?"  
"I don't know. If anything, this is my fault for ignoring him."  
"It's not your fault either. He's just a psychopath. A monster."  
"In either case...we're fine. We'll rest for a few days...maybe go on that holiday you'd been talking about."  
"That's be nice. Somewhere warm?"  
"Wherever you want."  
"I don't care. As long as it's with you."  
"I'll have it booked in a few days."  
"Take your time. I'll have to take off work..."  
"Do you think it will help?"  
"I don't know. I hope so."  
"Do you want to...talk about it some more?"  
"The holiday?"  
"Well, we can do that too, but...not what I meant."  
"No. I don't want to talk about that."  
Sherlock nodded. He was trying to be a supportive lover in John's time of need. "Talk about the holiday, then."  
John sighed. "I don't suppose you like swimming, hmm?"  
Sherlock shrugged. "I could try it."  
"Wait- you've never been swimming?"  
"No?" This was the solar system all over again, wasn't it?  
"Oh my god, Sherlock. How have you never been swimming?"  
"I just never have. Why is that so difficult to believe?"  
"Well, cos everyone's been swimming, Sher. It's part of childhood. Part of life."  
"We may have been to a beach or a lake some time in my distant past. I never got in the water."  
"Why not?"  
"...I don't know. The fact of the matter is, I'm willing to try."  
"Good. Let's go somewhere tropical. We can enjoy the sunshine and the sand and the warm water."  
"Ah, sunburn..." He chuckled and rubbed John's back. "Remind me to pack sunscreen."  
"I will. We'll take sunscreen for sure. We'll have to buy you swim trunks. In fact, I think I need a new pair."  
Anything to make John happy. He put on a small smile and held John close to himself.  
"Maybe... maybe this holiday should be our honeymoon...."  
"You'll have to propose to me first. Then we'll have to get married..."  
"Well, the surprise has kind of been ruined..."  
"Yes, but I'm not letting him rob us of this. I'd like you to do it anyway."  
"Okay. I will."  
"Good. Now why don't you relax? Breathe slowly...you're still so tense."  
"I'm sorry. I just..." John sighed, trembling again. He tried to just breathe  
"Shh..." He shifted so that John's head was lying on the center of his chest. "Breathe. Breathe with me, all right?" John nodded slowly. He just focused on Sherlock's heartbeat and breathing pattern and eventually his own synced up. Sherlock stroked John's back, looking up at the ceiling and breathing deeply to keep everything calm. Anything to set John right again. "...how do you feel?"  
"Bit better, thanks." Absentmindedly, John traced his fingers up and down Sherlock's arm.  
"Is there anything you need? Anything I can get for you or do?"  
"No. Just lie here with me if... you're not too bored to."  
"No. I'm not bored." He continued stroking John's back, just trying to soothe him. "I'll stay here with you."  
"Thank you. I'm sorry. I'll try to get better for you soon. "  
"Don't apologize. This isn't your fault."  
"I don't like being like this. I didn't like it the first two times and I don't like it now."  
"It will get better. It's all right..."  
After a while of lying there quietly, John sat up. "I'd better call work before I lose my job. Again."  
"All right. I'll be right here." Sherlock tried a smile and sat up too, stretching. John took his phone from his pocket and limped into the bedroom to make his phone call. Sherlock rose from the sofa and shuffled slowly to get his own phone to check it. Whether it had been the abuse from the previous evening or the sedatives, he still wasn't feeling well, dizzy and weak. He ended up sitting at the kitchen table when his legs shook.  
John limped out a few minutes later, and found Sherlock in the kitchen, sitting across from him. "D'you think we should mention something to Greg? Erm... Lestrade?"  
"Mm. I don't think so...that's not how this game works." He'd have to monitor his messages, the website, the blog...he needed to expand his awareness so that they wouldn't have a repeat of last night.  
"Its not a game anymore. It's just torture. Besides... he said there's no game without a second player."  
"I'll consider. Just...I need to think on it." He sat forward with his head in his hands, massaging his temples.  
"Okay," John sighed. "D'you want more water? Ibuprofen? "  
Sherlock glanced up. "...I'd really like some tea, though I'm not sure if it's the best idea."  
"I think we have some decaf somewhere. Maybe even chamomile or lavender. " Sherlock made a face, but if that's what their options were... "Decaf is fine."  
"Alright." John got up and made his way to the electric kettle, filling it and switching it on. A routine would help. Trying to get things back to normal could help even if John would still be a wreck.  
Sherlock watched the man carefully. John went searching through the cabinets until he found the decaf tea. He made up a full pot so they could just sit at the table and refill their cups. Sherlock gave another smile even though he wasn't feeling it. He went through his phone again, looking for leads. John set a cup in front of Sherlock and put the pot between them as he sat down.  
Sherlock sipped the mug in silence for a moment, but kept glancing up at John. "I think I'd like a shower. Would you be all right?"  
"I'm not a child, Sher. I can make it alone long enough for you to shower."  
"I know you aren't a child, John. I'm just making certain."  
"Go shower. I'll be fine."  
Nodding, Sherlock finished the cup of tea and stood up slowly, breathing evenly. He slowly made his way to the bathroom, needing to wash. John just stayed at the table, staring into his cup of tea and hating everyone and everything that wasn't Sherlock, himself included.  
Sherlock came out of the bathroom in pajamas, having cleaned out the wound Moriarty had left and rebandaged it. He sat back down at the kitchen table, feeling more human for having gotten clean. "Much better."  
John didn't even notice. He was too lost in his pity party. Frowning, Sherlock reached across the table to take John's hand. He felt like nothing he could do would help John. John snapped out of it, looking at Sherlock's hand and then up at his face. His eyes- normally rivaling the night sky with the way the sapphire twinkled- were dim and still full of fear and pain. Sherlock didn't put on a false front to try and cheer John up as he knew it would be futile. Instead, he rubbed John's knuckles, frowning.  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm not being fair to you. You're stronger than I am. I should just. .." He gently pulled his hand away and dismissed himself, disappearing upstairs to his no-longer-used bedroom.  
"John..." By the time he'd found the right words to comfort the man, John had already gone up the stairs and away from him. His hand dropped back to the table and depression gripped him. So they'd both be fighting alone, then... Determination found him then. He needed to find Moriarty. He needed to stop him.  
John hugged his spare pillow and just tried to focus on remembering everything /before/ the previous night. He should just be happy, shouldn't he? Relieved that they had their lives and each other? After all, it's not like they'd just gotten shot in the war... Yet somehow it had been so much worse than that. It had been an invasion on their private life and relationship. It had been a violation.  
The violation hadn't bothered Sherlock as much as it had bothered John. Of course he was angry that they'd been taken and tortured. He was angry that Moriarty had taken something they shared and twisted it into something dark. Anger consumed him and made his abused heart pound. Getting his laptop, he started to search, scouring contacts and taking notes. He would take down the empire a second time.  
John just let sleep take him again. It was easier than dealing with the way he felt.  
Sherlock worked while John slept. By the time morning came, he was sitting on the sofa surrounded by papers, files and photographs. His head was in his hands and he was exhausted but he wouldn't have been able to sleep if he tried.  
John tentatively came down the stairs when he woke. He looked worn to the bone as he hadn't slept well alone. One glance up at John told Sherlock there had been nightmares. Of course there had been nightmares...stupid. Why didn't he think to go to John? Letting him sleep alone was only going to cause more damage.  
John shuffled over to Sherlock. "Didn't you sleep?"  
"No. Working..." He lowered his head again, sighing. He needed to take a break and so he sat back.  
"Did you get another case?"  
"Of a sort." He rubbed his eyes and closed them, his head falling back to rest against the back of the sofa.  
John sat beside him and stroked his hair. "Tell me about it?"  
Sherlock sighed and leaned into the affection. "You didn't sleep either. Not well, anyway... I'm going to try and make sure that changes. I'm going to take him down again."  
"I'm... I'm not sure that's the best idea. Making him angry... he could attack again. Worse next time."  
"If I don't put a stop to it, we'd still have to live in fear. What's the difference?"  
"But... you're not afraid. And... dismantling his web again, means you'll have to leave me. Again."  
"But you are. You mean more to me than anything. ...you could come with me this time."  
"I'm not strong enough or clever enough for that. You know that."  
Sighing, Sherlock just slouched against John, tired. Defeated.  
John held onto him and kissed his head. "Do what you have to, but please don't leave me again. It might kill me."  
"I won't live in fear, John." Sherlock held onto John in turn, resting his forehead on his lover's shoulder. "...I can't stand to see you this way. If I could take him down...there wouldn't be a threat."  
"I'm appreciative of the lengths you would go to on my behalf, but I'll get better with time."  
"I just..." He sighed and wrapped both arms around John's middle. "...It scares me to know that he can affect you this way."  
"Anyone could have done that to us and it would have had the same affect. We were violated. Our private life was invaded and twisted into something awful. On top of that... I was forced to watch you suffer."  
"I didn't suffer for long." He kissed John's neck, his lips brushing his carotid. "...and I'll make sure he doesn't do it again."  
"He'll not do it again- hopefully- as long as you respond to his puzzles. That's what he said anyway."  
"Then I will," he mumbled into John's neck.  
"I just hope he doesn't hurt you again."  
"I'm not hurt. I'm all right...he did the same to you but it will heal."  
"He induced tachycardia, Sherlock. You could have had a heart attack. "  
"I'm healthy and run quite a bit... " He nuzzled against John, trying to calm him again. "I know, but... that was... too much."  
"I suppose so." He remembered the helpless feeling of not being able to catch his breath, the sharp, spreading pain...  
"Sher..." John scratched his head lightly to get him to look up.  
Sherlock looked up, frowning but meeting John's eyes with his own. John cupped his face and stroked his cheek with his thumb before leaning in to kiss him tenderly. It wasn't intended to spark desire. Rather, it was a much needed reassurance of their existence, of their status of life. And it helped, as they breathed into each other, to add a reminder of how they completed one another.  
Sherlock returned the kiss gently, keeping their foreheads pressed together even after they broke apart. Closing his eyes, he just fixed on the sound of John's breathing and the feeling of the man in his arms.  
"He can distort our indulgences and hurt us, but he can't make us fall out of love and I need that more than anything right now. I need to know that he can't destroy what's between us."  
"No. He can't. You have to believe that he can't." He kissed John, holding him close. "I love you and I won't leave you."  
"I love you too." John sniffed and kissed him again. "Why don't we get a bit more rest? Then I'll make lunch and we can do something fun? I just want to get my mind off of this."  
"Of course. Bedroom?" The bed would have been so much more comfortable than the sofa.  
"Yes. Your bed is more comfortable than mine and the sofa both."  
Separating from John, Sherlock held out a hand to pull him up. "Come on, then." A nap would do them both good. Sherlock himself felt like he hadn't slept for days. Technically it was true. The drug was the only thing that had gotten him to sleep the night before.  
John gratefully followed his lover into the bedroom and stripped off his shirt. He'd been in the same clothes for three days and was starting to feel gross.  
"Would you like to shower? I'll just be right here."  
"Actually, yes. I'm feeling a bit like a human rubbish pile." John stuffed his shirt into the hamper and left for the bathroom, leaving the door open. "I know it sounds stupid, but... will you play something while I'm in the shower?" He didn't want to admit that he was feeling apprehensive about turning his back and making himself vulnerable.  
"Of course. I'll get my violin." He only left for a moment and when he came back he tested to make sure the violin was tuned before playing a Bach piece.  
John felt a bit more at ease. He always enjoyed when Sherlock played anyway. Especially when he'd wake from a nightmare to hear those dulcet tones lilting up the stairs. He started the shower and got in after he finished undressing.  
Sherlock continued playing through John's shower and even after he heard the water stop running. When he'd finished the Bach piece, he started Mendelssohn, flashing John a smile when he finally came out of the bathroom.  
John looked at him gratefully and went into the bedroom to finish drying off. He slipped on a pair of pants as they weren't going anywhere yet and went back to the doorway. "Coming to bed?"  
"Of course. Would you like me to play until you fall asleep or join you right away?"  
"I sleep better not alone. Nightmares," he mumbled shamefully.  
Sherlock twirled his violin bow and set the instrument down on the dresser. Shedding his shirt and dressing gown, he joined John on the bed, lying close to him.  
"Thank you. I'm sorry if I'm a burden. But... you make it... easier to deal with."  
"You're not a burden. Don't ever think that."  
"Well you're used to being alone and... not being needed."  
"I don't think I want to be alone anymore." He reached his arms out to John. "Do you?"  
John nestled into his arms. "No, of course not."  
Sherlock wrapped his arms firmly around John and settled back with him. "There you are, then."  
John closed his eyes. "Lunch when we wake up?"  
"Perfect." Sherlock closed his eyes as well, exhausted.


	8. Because You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and the encounter with Moriarty seem to have finally sparked an instinct inside John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly smut ahead and FINALLY! some self-stething. ((woohoo!!))  
> Anyway, Sorry for the shit ending.

John managed to find sleep but it wasn't easy and it was far from peaceful. Every time John shifted or moaned in his sleep, Sherlock woke again, stroking his arm, carding a hand through his hair or otherwise shushing him. Eventually, he resolved himself to stay awake to watch over him. Guiding John to curl against his chest when he shifted again, he stroked a hand over his back and stared at the ceiling. John seemed to finally find peace when curled against Sherlock's chest, whether it was the warmth or the scent of his skin, the doctor was calm finally.   
Sherlock's hand eventually stilled when he found sleep as well. His dreams were slow to come and when they did, they were disjointed bits of memory in settings they didn't belong. In which... he had a talk with Molly about loving John. Molly, who sternly reminded him that love wasn't a toy and humans not playthings. In which he sipped his tea and told Molly he'd do absolutely anything for John. When he looked up from his tea, Molly had become Moriarty, who asked him 'really?', a grin on his face. Sherlock jerked awake at the sight of that grin.  
John stirred and opened his eyee when Sherlock jolted. "You all right, love?"  
Sherlock inhaled sharply and stroked his hand over John's back again. He tensed his hands to hide the fact that they were shaking. "Mm. Fine."  
"Did you have a bad dream?"  
"Only the last part." He leaned over to kiss John's forehead.  
"Okay." John held onto him. "I'm here. You're here. No one else. We're okay. I love you."  
"I know. In my dream...I was speaking with Molly about how much I cared about you." "Mm. That's sweet."  
"Yes. She kept scolding me about people not being playthings." He yawned, the adrenaline having ebbed away. "I told her I'd do anything for you."  
"I think she knows you love me. I certainly know you'd do anything for me."  
"Good. Mmh...it's past two. Should we just lie here until dinner?"  
"Dunno. You need more rest. You didnt sleep at all last night. "  
"I'll rest but I won't be able to sleep any more."  
"Will you try?"  
"I know my body well enough to know that I won't be able to sleep. I will try again tonight."  
"Okay. We can lie here til dinner if you'd like."  
Sherlock was much too active a man to want to lie in a bed during his waking hours, but he kissed John's forehead again, lying back compliantly.  
"Is there something you'd rather do?"  
"If I thought I could get you in the mood, I'd like to fellate you."  
John laughed slightly. "I think you've found a new hobby."  
"Something like that." He smirked and playfully reached to squeeze John's arse.  
John grunted. "Well, you can certainly get credit for trying."   
"Your fault for sparking a libido in me."  
"My fault? How is it my fault?"  
"You know how it's your fault." He chuckled and ran a hand over John's back. "You've made me hopelessly attracted to you."  
"Made you? I did no such thing. All I did was exist."  
"Oh, I beg to differ." He gently rolled them so that he was lying atop John, looking adoringly down at him. "Your mere existence is at fault, then."  
John blushed slightly and a bit of the light had returned to his eyes. "Sorry. I'll just go back to not existing."  
"That would be dreadful. You must promise to keep existing." He started kissing John's face, then his jaw and neck.  
"Alright, Sherlock. I promise."  
"Good." He lazily kissed his neck, moving down to his collarbone and across his shoulders. John sighed and relaxed. Sherlock always made for a good distraction  
"I want you to concentrate, John? Can you do that for me?"  
"Um... concentrate on what?"  
"On the feeling of me touching you. I won't be upset if you aren't in any sort of mood...but I do want to touch you. Is that all right?"  
"Yes. You're lucky you're so easy to concentrate on."  
Sherlock smiled against John's skin and slid his hands across his pectorals. "I want you to tell me how this makes you feel. I want you to relax and only focus on what I'm doing to you. All right?"  
"Yes, Sherlock. I'll do what I can."  
Focusing solely on John as well, he scattered kisses across his chest next, fingertips ghosting against his skin at his arms, chest and sides. John closed his eyes and relied on sensation alone. Letting his mind rest and stop thinking.  
Sherlock could feel rather than see John relaxing. Good. He purposefully avoided erogenous areas, just giving light, loving touches and kissing where ever his fingers roamed. He moved down all the way to John's feet, massaging his calves and kissing the top of each foot. The massage worked back up to his thighs, hips, gently at his sides and his arms. "Turn over?"  
Pliant, John rolled over and let Sherlock continue. He really needed this. Sherlock continued, leaning into John's back to try and loosen the muscles there. For such a willowy man, he was surprisingly strong. Shoulders and lower back were given the same attention, kisses following when he was finished with each section.  
"Mm.. Sherlock. This is wonderful," John mumbled into the pillow  
"More?"  
"Please."  
He continued on, working the knots out of every muscle group. His back, his thighs, all the way down to his ankles, planting kisses on every spot to soothe the reddened skin. John grunted and groaned as his muscles were kneaded A few more kisses to the back of John's neck and then Sherlock laid atop him, kissing behind his ear.  
John looked back at him as much as he could. "Thank you for that."  
"Mm...of course." He sighed pleasantly as though he were the one who had just been massaged, lazily kissing the bits of skin he could reach.  
"You just gonna be a human blanket now?"  
"Is that all right?"  
"Fine. It's actually comfortable. "  
"How do you feel?"  
"Safe. Relaxed."  
"Good. Very good..."  
"Hard to kiss you when you're lying on my back though..."  
"You could always make me move."  
"Not gonna move on your own?"  
"I like it here." Sighing again, he rolled off from John onto the bed beside of him, bouncing it a bit. John grunted and turned onto his side, leaning in to kiss his lips. Sherlock stroked at the fine hairs on the back of John's neck, humming pleasantly into the kiss.  
John pulled away from him slowly. "You know... maybe we could try..."  
"Hmm?" Sherlock tilted his head, curiosity lighting his eyes.  
"It'd be a good distraction, intimacy. And it would kill some time."  
"Is that all?" He chuckled and stretched out.  
"What else? "  
"It would kill some time. What a romantic genius you are...now come here. I want another kiss."  
John laughed and scooted closer, sealing his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, returning the kiss and relaxing his jaw. John exhaled softly and pressed closer Sherlock pulled back only to kiss at John's jaw, nipping gently.  
"Mm. You're either a natural or you've become /very/ good /very/ quickly."  
"I learn very quickly..."  
"Clearly."  
Humming, he started kissing and sucking gently on John's neck. John made a small, pleased sound and exposed more of his neck to his lover Chuckling, Sherlock sucked a little more insistently, trying to leave a mark.  
"Mm... hmmph. I think it's working."  
"Oh?" He found a different area, sucking a spot into it too.  
"Mm... yes... I... believe so."  
"What is working? Hmm?"  
"Your attempt to get me in a mood."  
"Oh good. What else do you suppose might help?" He ran a hand across John's stomach.  
"I don't know. Why don't you... experiment?"  
"Experiment?" Chuckling deeply, he moved out from under John, pecking his cheek. "I'll be right back." He bounded off the bed and started to dig in his closet.  
John sat up slightly, using his hands to prop himself up. "What're you doing?" "Nothing," Sherlock teased, casually holding John's stethoscope since it was the first one he grabbed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fit it into his ears and placed the diaphragm against his own chest, listening to himself.  
John swallowed and sat up a bit more, shifting slightly. Sherlock only did this when he really wanted John's attention. And it worked every time.  
Sherlock looked right into John's eyes, his own half lidded. Slowly, he laid himself on the bed, stretching out and placing the chestpiece over his sternum.  
John slowly crawled over him, straddling his lap. "What do you hear?"  
He reached to touch John's leg, tapping out his heart rate on the skin there. "Seventy-eight. Mmh...no, eighty. It's getting excited because you're here."  
John licked his lips. "Yeah?" He squirmed slightly and let his hands wander down to trace Sherlock's hips  
"Feels like it's trying to jump a bit now...thumping harder." He inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. John slid his hands up Sherlock's stomach slowly, still watching him, enamoured Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing in more sharply. "Eighty-five now..." He continued tapping on John's skin, the tapping more insistent.  
John's thumbs stroked the bottom of Sherlock's rib cage as his hands wandered upwards "Ninety..." He smirked up at John, tapping with two fingers now. "I can hear it very clearly now...see? It's starting to push out a bit, isn't it?  
John watched Sherlock's heart thump against his chest wall and nodded. His right hand slid up until his palm covered the left side of Sherlock's chest, feeling the beat there. It was strong enough to gently move John's hand. He moved the chestpiece up a little to give John more space to feel it. "It likes showing off for you..."  
"Always. I think it knows how much I like it." John moved his hand and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's heart, his tongue even brushing the pulsing skin. He moaned softly.  
"Mmh..." Sherlock took his hand away from John's leg and stretched his left arm above his head to make his ribs more prominent. "Yes, it's faster now...you've found a good spot." John's nose nuzzled his skin before he leaned up to kiss Sherlock's lips. Sherlock moaned into the kiss, reaching to play his fingers over the back of John's neck. Covertly, he turned the chestpiece of the steth, pressing it against John's heart to hear it beating.  
John's heart was fast already, excited. 102. He rolled his hips against Sherlock's, seeking friction.  
"Ah...eager, aren't you?" He wrapped a leg around John and lifted his hips, pressing their groins together and squirming.  
"Mmnh. Can't help it. You pushed the right buttons."  
"I enjoy pressing your buttons." He slid his body down, then back up, rolling his hips to give John the friction he needed. He moved the chestpiece to the apex of John's heart, liking how loud it was there. 108 now. John rutted against him needfully, his heartrate climbing with the level of his desire. 110. 114. "I like making your heart pound for me too...nnh...just like that..." Sherlock's cock was responding to the friction, thickening and jutting up to meet John's from the confines of his pants.  
"We just gonna come like this?"  
"Do you want to? Would you rather...be inside me? Or inside my mouth?"  
"Both."  
"Greedy..." Sherlock grinned. "Would you like a turn with this before I put it away?" He indicated the steth.  
"Yes..." John balanced himself on his knees and held out his hand for the earpieces. Sherlock handed it to him, licking his lips and stretching both arms above his head.  
Curiosity got the better of John. He wanted to know exactly how his heart pounded for the detective. So with the earpieces in place, he turned the steth on himself, listening at the tricuspid.  
A devious look crossed Sherlock's face. "Do you hear how excited you are? Hm?"  
"Oh, yes. And only you could have caused this."  
"Keep listening, then..." Sherlock wriggled, sitting up and reaching for the waistband of John's pants. "Legs. Get this off."  
John looked surprised, but leaned back, helping Sherlock remove his pants  
"Keep telling me what it sounds like." He pushed John to sit back a bit and got himself down on all fours. Pausing a moment, he leaned forward at an awkward angle for his neck and took the head of John's cock into his mouth.  
John gasped. "Oh--! It... umm... you made my heart skip."  
"Mmh!" Sherlock's eyebrows perked and he looked pleased with himself. Rubbing John's thighs at the crease where they met groin, he relaxed his throat, took a deep breath and took in more. All the way until his nose met John's pubic bone and there he held, swallowing around John's length.  
"Ahh-! John arched suddenly. "Again... and now... faster. 120."  
Sherlock choked and pulled back, gasping and sliding John's cock in and out of his mouth and throat. Sucking. Making filthy, wet noises. John writhed in pleasure, one hand gripping the bed sheets and the other pressing the diaphragm of the steth into his chest. "One... one twenty... eight..."  
Sucking hard and then pulling back, Sherlock stopped to breathe. "More?"  
"Nope. I want to be inside you..."  
Sherlock stretched his neck and then rolled over to the bedside table to fish out the lube and a condom. Opening the foil package, he rolled back over to John and rolled it onto John's cock. "What, right now? ...Tell me how your heart is going now." He peeled himself out of his pants and decided to give John a bit of a show, stroking his own cock.  
"Mmm... bit slower but... more thumpy. 125 and pounding hard. Except..." John licked his lips and focused on watching Sherlock stroke himself. "Speeding up again."  
"Oh? What do you suppose might have caused that?" He reached for the lube and uncapped it, giving John a very come hither look.  
"The sight before me..." John scooted closer and transferred the stethoscope head from his chest to Sherlock's, pressing it into his Erb's point.  
"Do you like what you see?" He leaned into the touch of the steth's head, pressing it into his skin and harder against his ribs. His heart was pounding as well, staying around 120 for the moment. "Do you like what you /hear/?"  
"Yes. You're so gorgeous and I love the way your heart beats for me." Something seemed to click inside John's head. "And only for me because I'm yours and you are mine. Only mine." He kissed Sherlock possessively   
"Mmhh..." The sudden possessiveness surprised Sherlock but at the same time it made heat shoot right through him to his groin. The kiss was intense and he found himself holding onto John to stay upright, his heart picking up speed. Only for John. Like it knew it belonged to him.  
John broke the kiss and maneuvered both of them so he was kneeling with Sherlock's legs wrapped around his hips. He held Sherlock on his lap. "You're mine, aren't you, Sherlock?"  
"I am yours, John." Grasping John's shoulders for balance, he held on and stayed how John had configured him. He read it for what it was... John needed this. Maybe he needed this too. "Only yours."  
John slid back and forth in the cleft of his arse. "And what else is mine?"  
Sherlock rocked with him, liking the feel. Close but not close enough. "My heart is yours, John...always, only yours."  
"And what else?" John cupped his lover's ass and lifted him up as he lined up.  
A deep chuckle rumbled in Sherlock's chest. "My love. My body." He helped John to lift him, pulling himself up on John's shoudlers. "Those things...are for no one else."  
"You're damn right." John pressed into him slowly, pulling Sherlock down on his cock  
"Unh..." He hissed at the intrusion but breathed and let John set the pace for them. John wanted to claim him and so claim him he would. "Will you...show me that I'm yours?"  
John looked up at Sherlock, his blue eyes suddenly much darker. "Yes." He used the palm of his hand to press the diaphragm against Sherlock's ribs, holding it firmly in place. He started out slow, thrusting hard and deep.  
Sherlock's lips parted to let him gasp in breaths and let out moaning exhales. His heart picked up speed again, pushing against John's hand hard enough to bounce it, hard enough that the blood could be heard whooshing in and out of the chambers of his heart  
As John picked up his pace, he nibbled at Sherlock's neck, grunting 'mine' every now and then. As John slammed into him, he lifted himself up and then down again to get John inside of himself harder, his gasps almost covered up by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Sherlock exposed more of his neck to John, inviting him to bite, nibble or leave marks if he wished. "Ah...J...John...yes. Yours. Only yours...nnnhhh..."  
Reading the invitation, John bit down hard on his neck and began sucking a mark there as he continued to pound into him. "AH!" His fingernails bit into John's shoulders, his cock sliding wetly between them with precome. Oh yes, he'd liked that. His heart was hammering against his ribs now, heart rate shooting up to 165 and booming in John's ears. "John...ah, God...please..." He didn't even know what he was begging for.  
"Please what?"  
"Please..." He tried to string a coherent thought together, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down. "Please...God, if you do that...again....nnnnhh...going to come..." "Oh... you like it when I mark you?"  
"Yes," he gasped out, making a face like he was lost in the moments just before orgasm. Almost. So close. 174 and absolutely rocking John's hand.  
John tugged Sherlock's hair as he switched to the other side of his neck, moving tongue in circles over his pulse point. "Nnh... your heart is racing. Its so loud. Like it needs to be heard."  
"Thats...only for you," he panted out, still moving with John's thrusts and clamping down on John's shoulders each time his prostate was pounded into. He grunted when his hair was pulled, squirmed when John's mouth and tongue were on his neck again. "Only you can...hear it like this...nnnh...ah..."  
"Yes... all for me." John sucked another bruise onto his neck, thrusting faster.  
Sherlock let out a whimpering cry, just on the cusp of letting go. Just a little more. "J...John...going to...come for you..."  
"Wait," John growled. A few more thrusts before granting permission. "Now. Come, Sherlock.  
It was like an unspoken command that Sherlock had understood before they'd even started. He held on for as long as he could and strangely enough, felt the command to come ripple through him, the orgasm tearing out of his body with a force of its own. 186. He cried out loudly enough that the neighbors might have heard, come shooting out between them and his entire body shaking from the force of it.  
John moaned rather loudly himself. "God... Sherlock..." He thrust slow and deep until his own orgasm finished ripping through him. He groaned weakly and slumped against Sherlock before giving him the earpieces and holding the chestpiece to his own apex. 180. Sherlock took them without thinking about what he was doing- thinking was difficult- and put them in his ears. He listened to John's heart pound and tried to catch his breath, warm and sated, his brain fuzzy and quiet. There was nothing in his world except for the smell, feel and sound of John.  
John slowly moved to lie on his back, keeping Sherlock on top of him as he tried to just breathe. Such bliss. He laid against John bonelessly, just listening to the drum of his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. They were a mess, he was going to hurt a lot in a few hours and there were going to be marks he wouldn't be able to hide without a scarf. It was satisfying. "Mmmh...."  
John's heart beat harder as it began to slow and even skipped a couple of times. He had sincerely needed that type of release. That primal claim. His mind was fuzzy and his heart was full. A hand idly pet John's chest as though to tell his heart that everything was fine. Sherlock's head dropped against John's breastbone, utterly spent. "John..."  
"Hmm, Sherlock?"   
"Love you." That was all he could muster to say.  
"You too, Sher."  
"...can't move."  
"Sorry."  
"...you're not." He stroked John's chest again before his hand stilled. Once his own heart rate came down, he felt drowsy, his entire body heavy.  
"I'm not sorry...?"  
Sherlock breathed out a laugh.  
"No."  
"Oh. If you say so."  
"You've...I can't even think." He giggled, kissing John's chest.  
John chuckled too. "Good. Sometimes, I like you that way."


End file.
